A Skyrim Murder Mystery
by Grigori
Summary: An ill-fated archaeological mission to Blackreach turns sinister when the members of the expedition start dying one by one. Told mainly from the perspective of Tashine, a Redguard mercenary, 'A Skyrim Murder Mystery' combines OCs and in-game characters, and features plenty of twists and turns.
1. Prologue

Author's Note: It goes without saying that Bethesda owns the universe and its characters. The rest is me.

Be forewarned; my grammar is not impeccable.

* * *

PROLOGUE - Journal of Tashine the Redguard

 _Several months ago, I made the fateful choice of stepping onto a merchant ship bound for Skyrim, and said farewell to my native Hammerfell. My choice was spurred by two things: news from Skyrim suggested the province was going to erupt into civil war, and where there is conflict, there is also profit for intrepid sell-swords. And second, my last ties to Hammerfell were gone. My husband and siblings had died during the wars, and when my ailing mother finally passed, home began to feel empty and restless. So I packed up what little belongings I had and found work on board a merchant ship that would take me far from the spice farms and sun-swathed sands. At last I debarked in Windhelm, the last port of call in Skyrim, and found my way to Candlehearth Hall._

 _I was sitting in the corner of the upper floor when I was joined by a brutish Nord with a bald head and thick beard, who sat (uninvited) at my table._

 _"Not many women wear armour," is what he said if I remember._

 _"Perhaps more should," I replied, and the man laughed at that._

 _He then introduced himself. "I'm Stenvar. If you're looking for a blade-for-hire, I'd reckon you've found one of the best."_

 _And I replied, "Well I hope you don't mind a little competition then. My name is Tashine."_

 _And that's how I met Stenvar. Despite the brutish physique, he had a rather kindly expression and manner, and damn-it-all if his laugh didn't somewhat remind me of my late husband's._

 _Those first months in Windhelm were profitable enough. Mostly I worked as bounty collection for the Jarl's steward. Sometimes it would be odd jobs for the Shatter-shields or Cruel-Seas. Despite representing competition, Stenvar and I shared information on potential clients, and even worked together twice to take down giants on the roads. In the evenings, we would share stories over bottles of mead at Candlehearth Hall._

 _Then, a week ago today, Stenvar sat down at our usual table with an imperial man in tow. My first impression of him was of a military officer. Stern. Intelligent. Well-dressed. Grey around the temples. I was writing to a distant relative in Hammerfell when they approached._

 _"Your friend can read and write? Rare for a mercenary."_

 _"Yeah, she's something," said Stenvar._

 _We made introductions and the newcomer introduced himself as Cato._

 _Cato went straight to the point. "I'm hiring guards for an archaeological dig in Winterhold hold. Stenvar here says you've been earning a reputation for yourself."_

 _Stenvar added in, "And tell her about the pay." The all-important question, truly._

 _Cato nodded. "We pay 5000 septims monthly. Plus you'd be living on site."_

 _I had to admit it was good pay. Generous even. And suspicious._

 _"What's the work for?" I asked Cato._

 _He replied, "Guarding the dig site. Warding off bandits, wolves, the like. And once the dig commences in earnest, you'd keep the labourers safe."_

 _Right. I've had run-ins with draugr and frostbite spiders while delving through an old Nord ruin on behalf of the Shatter-shields. Not pleasant, but nothing I can't handle. And since Stenvar had already accepted, I wasn't about to turn this opportunity down._

 _I provided what letters of recommendation I could, and Cato took them._

 _He rose to leave, and said "My assistant will look for you here in three nights, and take you to the site the morning after."_

 _Stenvar and I treated ourselves to an extra round of mead that night, and suffered skull splitting headaches in the morning._

 _In three days, I had packed by belonging again, fastened my leather cuirass, and wrapped my head in a blue cloth turban. Stenvar wore his usual steel armour. I won't ever understand how Nords can stand the cold so._

 _The assistant turned out to be a squeaky, young wood elf called Roandil. We headed out of Windhelm, turning west and then north. Along the road, I asked Roandil for more information about the job._

 _"It's being led by a renowned historian. The great Calcelmo of Markarth," said Roandil, "But there's bound to be drama. The college of Winterhold is prying into the business. They've sent a couple of their mages on site. Between us though, I feel better much safer with the mages around."_

 _Stenvar chuckled dismissively at that. I did not. Fighting the Aldmeri Dominion in Hammerfell had taught the Redguard people a healthy respect for the power of magic._

 _We arrived at the spot by noon. It was south and west of Winterhold, out on the icefields overlooking the Sea of Ghosts. The camp was nestled between the walls of a glacial crevasse, sheltered by the worst of the wind. At the very back of the crevasse, workers had evidently been busy chipping a tunnel through the ice to reach a long-buried Dwemer structure._

 _"No Draugr then," I noted to Stenvar._

 _"Aye. But there're animunculi." Which was probably true._

 _Roandil provided us with tents and bedding, and the rest of the day was spent making our beds and meeting the other workers._

 _In total there were twelve people, who could be loosely placed into three categories:_

 _Guards: Myself, Stenvar, and two other solemn bearded Nords._

 _Labourers: Twin Khajiit brothers, J'Kier and K'Jor, an argonian fellow with the fitting name Deep-in-his-Cups, a young farmboy named Eoric (also the cook), and an old miner named Kjeld._

 _College: Two members of the College had arrived, apparently uninvited. The older one was a Breton called Arniel Gane. The other one, and the only other woman here besides me, was Brelyna Maryon, an apprentice._

 _In addition to this there was Roandil, Cato's assistant. Cato himself was absent, supposedly escorting this Calcelmo fellow from Markarth._

 _Four days passed between my arrival and my writing of this account. With the ice cleared in record time, the workers and the guards have nothing to do except wait, exchange stories, drink copious amounts of mead (especially in the case of Deep-in-his-Cups) and await the arrival of the bosses. According to Roandil, they will be arriving tomorrow. For now, the solid copper door awaits._


	2. DAY 1

DAY 1

 _Cato's Expedition Journal_

 _Day 1_

 _Arrived from Markarth with Calcelmo by midday._

 _Two new hires are settling in – Stenvar is brawny and good with a greatsword. Redguard woman is a relative unknown. Ex-military probably. Favours light armour, shield and mace. They should be enough to replace the ones we lost._

 _Total count: 14, including myself and Calcelmo._

 _Our current food supplies will last us a month, with proper rationing._

 _Khajiit brothers finished opening the dig work. We will unseal the door today._

Cato looked up from his journal when his assistant Roandil entered the tent.

"Sir, you might want to get out here. There's trouble."

Cato sighed and rose, flipping his journal closed on his desk. From outside came the noise of indignant shouting.

"You idiot, do you even know who I am?" This was Calcelmo, naturally, standing more than a head taller than the man opposite him.

"I'm as fascinated by Dwemer architecture as you are!" protested Arniel Gane, "Did you really think you would keep this secret from the College. You've been getting supplies from us for months."

Calcelmo scoffed, "Idiots! All of you. Oh what does it matter. This is my work, do you understand? No middling fool is going to mess around in my research. I've waited a lifetime for this."

Cato approached the mages, with Roandil on his heels.

"I think you've heard the man, Arniel. We've allowed your presence up 'til now, but we have to ask you to leave."

Arniel looked truly apologetic when he turned his sunken eyes on Cato. "I'm very sorry Sir, but the Jarl of Winterhold insists, and since you are technically on his land…" He reached within the folds of his college robes and produced a letter.

Cato gave the contents a cursory look and exhaled with frustration.

Calcelmo gave him a wary look. "Cato, I demand you escort these pompous fools away."

"It'll be more trouble than its worth." He turned to Arniel then, "You're here as a consultant from the college. Nothing more. Any hint of thievery and I'll throw you into the sea."

Arniel bowed and practically scampered away.

"Well I don't think much of this!" said Calcelmo.

Cato grunted. "Agreed. But Dwemer ruins can be full of traps. If need be, it won't be hard to arrange a sordid end for poor Arniel. And his apprentice."

"There's an apprentice too? Wonderful. Absolutely singular."

Cato met angry yellow eyes with his own, channeling his imperial talent for persuasion. Then Calcelmo turned away, muttering to himself.

With the crisis averted, the Imperial relaxed and surveyed the camp.

The workers were busy packing supplies and moving them towards the entrance of the ruins. Shdarthan-zel, Calcelmo called it. A smaller Dwarven settlement, its location lost to the ages until uncovered by the High Elf wizard in an obscure engraving under the ruins of Markarth. As far as Dwemer cities went, Shdarthan-Zel was unimportant, but it held one key feature. A 'portal' to the realm of Blackreach, as Calcemo described it.

Cato walked to the foot of the glacier and climbed the side, overlooking the camp. Further up the mountains was a Dwemer lift, just teasing them. It probably led right to where they wanted to go, but it was dead. The lift could only be activated from underneath. To get underneath, they had to go through Shdarthan-Zel. As for what lay in wait on the other side… that was anyone's guess. Nobody knew what Blackreach was. Tales of adventurers vanishing in the depths of Dwemer cities were not uncommon.

Further along the edge of the crevasse stood one of the new guards. Tashine, the Redguard, was crouched on the precipice, huddling in a traveling cloak and keeping watch over the camp.

Cato approached, boots crunching in the snow, and she looked up.

"Hullo boss."

Cato came to a stop beside her and looked out towards the sea. "You were in the legion, weren't you?"

Tashine looked at him in surprise. "Do I know you?"

"Ah no," laughed Cato, "But an old soldier can always tell."

She shivered slightly. "Yes. I fought in the Great War. And then the Alik'r army after Hammerfell went independent."

"What made you quit?"

She didn't answer right away. Then, "Injury."

Cato nodded.

"I got better," she added.

"Well, we're glad to have you on board," said Cato. "We'll be entering the ruins soon. Follow me back to camp, I want you and Stenvar with the initial exploration party."

Tashine nodded and got to her feet. They walked together down the slope of the glacier, then looped back to head into the yawning mouth of the crevasse.

"What made you leave the legion?" asked Tashine.

Cato smiled ruefully. The scars across his face became acutely sensitive in the cold. "Less honourable circumstances I'm afraid."

He left it at that, because as the commander of the expedition, he couldn't tell his subordinates the whole truth. During the Great war, his party had been ambushed, his comrades killed. Cato lived on, by running and abandoning them. The Legion, if they knew he was alive, would have branded him a traitor.

Decades later, he was now a contractor in Skyrim. His past was firmly behind him, and that was that. Shameful. Regretful. Cowardly. Cato knew those words, and understood them. Yet, deep down, if the situation presented itself again, he knew he would make the same choice. Better to live with regrets than not to live at all.

The exploration party consisted of Stenvar, Tashine, Calcelmo, and Cato. Calcelmo waved his arms, and the magical seal holding the door released itself. The great copper doors swung outwards with a mournful creak to reveal a short hallway and another set of double doors ahead.

The four crept forwards silently. Cato had the lead, Calcelmo took the rear, and Stenvar and Tashine flanked them.

The second doors opened without incident, and a dark room loomed in front of them. Tashine held her torch high and continued on into the entrance hall. A metallic clinking stopped her dead in her tracks.

Beyond a dusty Dwemer table, in a tight alcove, a spider-like metal creature was jerking to and fro. Its body swiveled ninety degrees on a hidden set of gears, stopped with a clink, made to reach for a non-existent tool, then reversed direction and swiveled back with another clink.

"Stupid woman, it can't hear you, it's a bloody machine." Calcelmo pushed her aside and formed a crackling ball of lightning in his hand. It lanced across the space with a thunderous boom and sent the spider flying into the wall. It crumpled and broke apart as it hit.

To the left, beyond the table, was a gate leading to a series of partitioned alcoves and twisting pipes. The right end of the room had partially collapsed; stone and dirt rubble blocked off access that way. Straight ahead, a staircase led down to another set of doors. Beyond those doors, a long hallway led to another set of doors. Beyond these was a similar room to the entrance hall, but with more tables and benches – perhaps an ancient dining hall.

It took much of the afternoon to keep exploring the ruins. Besides an occasional spider-worker or sphere, the ruins appeared deserted for over a thousand years. It was larger than Tashine expected. By the time her stomach started growling for want of food, the four of them still hadn't exhausted all the corridors.

Cato eventually stopped them. "Alright, it seems clear that the ruins are safe enough. We'll have the workers move in here and start mapping the place. We'll set up a temporary base of operations in the dining hall tonight, and keep a rotating guard shift, in case there are stray animunculi."

Tashine was put on guard duty first as the workers moved into the dining hall. By now, she had memorized everyone's name. Eoric was wasting no time setting up a fire and spit for dinner. J'Kier and K'Jor were setting up bed rolls in one corner of the chamber.

"This one thinks it will be much warmer in here than outside," said J'Kier.

"This one very much agrees," said his brother.

Roandil entered the chamber from the long hallway while giving instructions to Brelyna Maryon, who was half buried under a mountain of scroll parchment. She set it down on a stone counter with evident relief.

Roandil asked, "Can you fetch the charcoal too?"

"Happy to help," replied Brelyna in a singsong voice, and scampered back through the hallway. She is eagerness itself, thought Tashine.

An old man's shout came from the direction of the hallway as Brelyna whisked by, and a few moments later, Kjeld emerged, dragging a heavy wooden chest.

Deep-in-his-Cups followed him, carrying cases of mead and foodstuffs for Eoric. "This is the last of it," said the argonian.

"Good," answered Eoric, "The meal will be ready soon."

Kjeld stretched his back and tugged at his moustaches, "Rabbit stew? I like rabbit stew,"

Cato, Calcelmo, Arniel, and Stenvar had gone back into the bowels of the ruin. The other two guards were posted outside the entrance in the cold.

Now Brelyna came back into the dining hall with her hands full of charcoals, quills, and inkwells, placing them next to the parchments under Roandil's direction.

"Tashine?" called the bosmer, "can you go fetch the others?"

"No problem," replied Tashine.

She felt too idle in the dining room anyway, and it was good to be alone for a moment in the eerie abandoned halls. Leaving the sounds of bustle behind her, she soon heard the sounds of arguing ahead. Calcelmo and Arniel, she thought.

"…it Zur Kal, not Sur Kaal. Late Dwemeris inflection is entirely lost upon you." This was the gravelly old voice of Calcemo.

"That's what I'm saying!"

"Enough,"

Stenvar's voice spoke. "Dead end. It's locked."

"We can break it down."

"There's a valve here."

"No don't touch that you – oh."

A jarring squeak sounded once and then stopped. Tashine rounded the corner to see Arniel retreat his hands away from a red control-valve.

"Still locked," called Stenvar as he pushed on the door at the end of a narrow passage.

Cato raised a hand, "Quiet… Do you hear that?"

Arniel nodded, "Steam."

"After all these years," whispered Calcelmo.

Cato turned to Tashine as she approached. "What news, redguard?"

Just then, the ground began to rumble and shake. Tashine cried out, steadying herself against the wall. The rumbling grew louder. Violent noises crashed in the distance, behind them. Dust fell from the ceiling, and cracks formed in the walls. Tashine dropped her torch, and it winked out in the dirt, plunging the corridor into inky blackness. The sound of stressed metal pierced the air.

And then it ended.

It was Calcelmo who cast a Magelight spell over five scared faces.

"The hallway collapsed," whispered Tashine. She suddenly felt very claustrophobic. Trapped. Mortal. She tried to keep her breathing even, keep her thoughts from running wild. She focused on shaking the dust out of her hair. She felt Stenvar's hand on her shoulder.

"Let's go check," he said.

The five of them retraced their steps in the light of Calcelmo's magic. The corridors were now partly obscured with debris, but not impassible. Tashine breathed a sigh of relief.

"We'll have to get these corridors secured," said Cato, "The weight of the glacier must have put too much stress on the walls."

Calcelmo muttered, "It will take so much time,"

They re-emerged into the dining area to find the others. Some debris had fallen in here as well. Eoric had a gash above his eye that was bleeding badly, but didn't look fatal. Everyone else seemed no more than shaken up.

"The entrance has collapsed," said Roandil.

It was true. The long hallway from the dining area to the entrance room was now a pile of rubble as high as the ceiling. Tashine's fear returned. "How long will it take to dig out?"

J'Kier ventured over to the hallway, eyeing the rubble. "Perhaps two months. This one cannot tell how far the rubble goes."

Cato spoke, "We have supplies for a month. That was for 14 people. Karl and Herd were guarding outside, so there are 12 of us."

"This one is pleased to hear it. If the Nords get help and tunnel from the other end, digging will take half the time," said K'Jor.

"I'll want everyone working on the dig in shifts, two at a time. J'Kier and K'Jor, you're up first," ordered Cato.

Suddenly Brelyna spoke in a quivering voice, "They're dead."

Tashine watched her make a symbol in her hand while magic lights danced around her fingers. She looked seemingly through the wall facing the entrance. She was casting Detect Dead.

Stenvar uttered a curse.

"I really am so sorry," Arniel said.

It was Calcelmo who spoke next, "There is another possibility."

The attention of the room turned to him.

"We push onwards, enter Blackreach, and take the lift back to the surface."

A moment passed and nobody spoke.

"Too risky," said Cato.

"I no longer care," he shot back icily, "If we spend all our efforts here tunneling back to the surface and fail, I will have died in vain, with my life's goal so close. If I am going to die here in this ruin, I will do it pursuing my research."

"I agree with Calcelmo," chimed Arniel.

"I don't want your help, you miserable fool."

Tashine spoke up, "We could do both."

All eyes turned to her. "The labourers can work on this end, while those not working could explore the ruin searching for a way through."

Cato cautioned, "If there is another cave-in, we would be separated."

Calcelmo shook his head. "My share of the supplies will stay with me. And I will go on. Alone if I must."

Another moment passed in silence.

"So be it," said Cato, "but before you go, stay for supper, and heal Eoric, will you?"

Rabbit stew, spiced with fallen ceiling dust, was served for dinner, along with a half ration of bread and goat cheese. The food helped calm Tashine's nerves, and everyone was feeling markedly improved after.

Stenvar suggested breaking into the mead. It was voted on, and approved of by a narrow margin. The rest of the evening was spent in relative good humour, sharing stories of adventure and romance. Tashine told of her adventures with Stenvar against the giants. Roandil spoke fondly of a lass in Valenwood, and Brelyna shared her anxieties about life at the College of Winterhold.

Cato had meanwhile devised a rotating shift system for mining the caved-in passage. J'Kier and K'Jor were the best miners. They had apparently done time in Cidhna mine. Kjeld had run a mine Kynesgrove, but he freely conceded the brothers were better. Deep-in-his-Cups and Roandil had taken the next shift. Now with their shift ending, Stenvar and Tashine were set to take over.

Tashine was glad that Cato had paired them together.

"We make a good team, don't we?" Tashine said, weighing the pickaxe in her hands.

"Yea. I told you I'm one of the best. Let's see who can crack more rock by shift's end."

They set to work, swinging the axe down into the rubble and shoveling it away.

Stenvar and Tashine both began to sweat and grunt with exertion, timing their swings asynchronously to pummel a large slab of fallen ceiling.

"Have you noticed," said Stenvar between swings, "Deep-in-his-Cups?"

"What about him?"

"He's hooked on skooma."

Tashine stopped herself mid-swing. "What? Do you say that because he's argonian?"

"No, I say that because he tried to sell me a bottle a few days back."

"Oh." Tashine resumed her pace. "That's a problem."

Stenvar stopped and shrugged. "Might be. Depends if he has a month's supply."

"Right."

"Just keep an eye out for him is all."

They kept working in silence for a while. The sound of snoring came from the other end of the hall. The others had gone to sleep. "How am I going to get sleep with all that racket?" Tashine thought woefully.

"Are you gunna go with Calcelmo tomorrow?" asked Stenvar.

Tashine didn't answer right away. She was reminded of the darkness and the dust and the fear.

"I don't think so. I'm needed here, wielding a pickaxe," she answered softly.

"Right."

"Why, were you thinking of going?"

"No, I'm set on staying here. But you made that suggestion earlier and I thought."

"Oh. No. Just trying to be conciliatory."

"What's that word mean?"

Tashine laughed, "Umm, trying to solve a problem?"

"Well good. I just think the two of us should stick together."

Tashine smiled at that, driving a spike deep into the rubble and causing it to finally crack through. "I think so too, Stenvar."

They were exhausted when their shift was up, and felt no pity waking Cato and Eoric for the next one. Collapsing in her bedroll, Tashine was surprised by just how easily she drifted off, despite the snoring and the distant thrum of pickaxes lodging in stone.

Being underground, it was impossible to know when was morning and when was night, but Tashine felt strongly that it was far too early for her to be awake. Unfortunately, she kept being shaken, and finally, she opened her bleary eyes. She started slightly to find red ones peering frantically back at her.

"Brelyna?" she asked?

"Please wake up," she pleaded. "It's Kjeld. He's dead."


	3. DAY 2

DAY 2

"Slow down and explain yourself,"

Brelyna took a deep breath, while Tashine, now fully awake, held her gently by the arms.

"Me and Arniel were finished our shift, so I went to wake up Kjeld and he-" she choked off in a sob.

Tashine got up and crossed to where the old Nord man was lying on his side. She reached out a hand to touch his body and found it cold and stiff. She pushed, and the body fell on its back. The skin on the side of his face was blue-black, and then an unmistakable odour –

Tashine turned and retreated, and surveyed the rest of the room. The Khajiit were awake, muttering quietly between themselves. Arniel was thoroughly distraught, and crying quietly against the furthest stone table. Deep-in-his-Cups was poking at the cooking fire with a stick. Cato, Eoric, Roandil, and Stenvar were still sleeping in their bedrolls.

"The others, are they…?"

Brelyna made the sign with her hand and cast Detect Dead. She shook her head. "Alive."

Tashine counted the people. One missing. "Where's Calcelmo?"

"He woke up during the middle of our shift. We were trying to make progress on the tunnel using magic and he said it woke him up. He took a trunk of supplies and carried it out telekinetically. Quite brilliant really.

She continued, "I didn't want to wake Cato. He's only had a couple hours of sleep. I didn't want to wake you either but, we need leadership."

Tashine felt like scoffing "And you came to ME for that?" but that would have been unproductive.

"Okay. J'Kier?" she called, "There are piles of loose rubble further into the ruins. Make a grave for Kjeld. K'Jor, keep working on our exit. I'll work on preparing and portioning breakfast. Deep-in-your-cups, you'll help yes?"

The argonian looked up and nodded.

"Brelyna. You and Arniel need to make a note of everything we have. I want to know what all Calcelmo took with him."

With everybody occupied, Tashine walked over to join the argonian squatting by the remnants of fire. She began preparing potatoes while he fetched wood for the coals. She watched him all the while. His small yellow eyes darted back and forth. His scaly skin shimmered at the slightest breeze. Finally, when he too was occupied with the potatoes, she challenged him.

"I know about the skooma," she said, watching his reaction from the corner of her eye.

He flicked his eyes at her and his tongue made a rapid, snake-like motion. "What is it to you?" he hissed.

"Do you make it?" Tashine asked.

"Ohh you wish to buy?"

"No. But you make it, don't you?"

The argonian barred his teeth, "What does it matter?"

"I think you know about alchemy. About poisons. I want you to tell me if you think Kjeld's death was natural."

"Posions." The argonian said out loud, as if contemplating the meaning of the word. "You have a suspicious mind, sandwoman. Who is to tell? Kjeld was old. Old men die. Their hearts fail, whether by poison or not. I cannot say."

Tashine faced him directly. "Did you sell Kjeld skooma?"

"Wha? No."

"I think you did. And it was tainted."

He hissed again. "My skooma is good quality. The best."

"For you maybe. Argonians are resistant to most poisons. But not Nords. So I'll ask again, did you sell Kjeld skooma?"

"No," said Deep-in-his-Cups, "In fact it is not for sale."

He got up and ended their conversation. Was he lying? She couldn't honestly tell. Tashine watched his tail as he walked away, swaying hypnotically. She realized she was still tired, despite it all.

After fetching Brelyna to look after breakfast, she settled back into her bedroll to try and get another hour's rest. Her thoughts drifted to Hammerfell. Pleasant memories mixed with unpleasant ones. She thought of her mother, brothers, and husband. She remembered how they died. She thought of Stenvar too, snoring gently nearby. She thought of the fear as the walls closed in and the ceiling fell down around them in the dark. How many times, during the wars, during her travels, had she been this close to death, only to escape? She wondered how, in the end, death would finally catch up with her.

* * *

 _Cato's Expedition journal_

 _Day 2_

 _Bad news._

 _Old man Kjeld died in the night. Cave-in has sealed the entrance. Calcelmo has left our party to search for a way to Blackreach and back to the surface._

 _According to the mages, Karl and Herd are dead too, so we can't rely on any outside help. We're trapped inside Shdarthan-zel._

 _Total count: 10_

 _In Calcelmo's absence, the College presence could be a useful addition._

 _Arniel blames himself for the cave-in, and is a wet blanket at the best of times, but Brelyna is proving versatile and not work-shy. And attractive-_

"-No don't write that down," Cato spat.

Roandil flourished the quill and struck it from the dictation. "Calcelmo will be furious with you, you know."

Cato replied testily. "Yes I am aware of that."

"Even more so than he seemed yesterday. We do technically work FOR him, remember?"

"The authority on site rests with him. The safety of the workers, however, is my responsibility."

Roandil made a face. "How is that working out?"

Cato groaned.

"You haven't mentioned that I'm sick either. I've been nauseous since I woke up," said Roandil, adding a line to the journal. "Note to self: Go sparingly on ancient Dwemer ceiling dust in rabbit stew."

"Oh quit whining. Nobody else is sick. You just over-exerted yourself during your shift last night."

Roandil closed the journal and placed it in Cato's chest of personal belongings. "Are you going to say funeral rites for Kjeld?"

"I'm not sure what to say. I know he's a miner from Kynesgrove and that's about it. I think Eoric knew him best," said Cato, in the middle of donning his legionnaire armour, "I suppose I could say that Nords go to Sovngarde when they die."

"I think that's only if they die in battle."

"Really? That's inconvenient."

Roandil took a look at the report Brelyna had made of their inventory. "With one less mouth to feed, our resources will stretch further," he noted.

"Yea, but Kjeld was a damn good miner. He was useful. It's a shame we didn't lose Arniel," Cato looked pointedly at his assistant. "Or you."

"Hmm," Roandil made a face as if deliberating.

"We're mapping the ruins today, Roandil. The long hallway to the entrance room may be blocked, but the entrance room itself could be hollow. If we find a room adjacent to it via another passage, we can smash through just one wall, instead of a whole corridor-full of debris."

Roandil nodded.

"And I want the mages involved," Cato continued, "they have nothing else to do."

This ultimately meant that Cato worked with Brelyna Maryon, and Roandil worked with Arniel Gane.

Roandil rolled his eyes when Cato proposed the split into pairs, but he didn't argue. He also worried about his stomach, which was still feeling uneasy.

Cartography was a new art for Arniel, which meant Roandil had to teach him the basics of scaling, using ruler, protractor, and compass. Once he had the hang of it, they began drawing out the corridor which led from the dining room and ran parallel to the entrance.

For the sake of courtesy, Roandil ventured a question about Arniel's research interests, and soon came to regret it.

"…some scholars posit a later date for the final disappearance of the Dwemer, implying that it occurred in stages, and not all at once, as is popular belief…

…the intricacies of Dwemer culture and government are largely lost to us, but there are Dwarven runic inscriptions. Cross referencing these to ancient Falmer texts…

…activated animunculi until the second Dwemer industrial revolution (still highly controversial among scholars)…

…I've been recreating the effect by using black soul gems, and manipulating vortical energies on the hypothetical seventh plane of oblivion, not that I know anything about that…

…and that's why Nirnroots will destroy everything you love and hold dear."

"Interesting, tell me more," said Roandil, voice dripping with sarcasm. At this point, though, Arniel was turning blue in the face, so perhaps he did want the mage to continue.

"I almost think you aren't really listening anymore," stammered Arniel. "Evil nirnroots, did you believe that?"

Rounding a corner, they set to work mapping the branching corridor.

"Oh, this is the place," said Arniel suddenly.

Roandil looked up. The corridor sloped downwards before leading to a door. Along the sides, giant pipes extended from the ground and twisted 90 degrees before heading into the room beyond. At the base of one of these pipes was a rusted red valve.

"That's the thing you turned to bring the ceiling down?"

"Oh I'm so sorry."

"Don't be," said Roandil, making notes of the piping architecture on their growing map. "I would have turned it too."

Arniel seemed on the verge of breaking into a sob, "Calcelmo tried to warn me."

Roandil rolled his eyes discretely, but put down the charcoal and rested a hand on the breton's shoulder. "Did it open the door though?"

"No."

"Well, it's open now."

Where the keyhole should have been, there was a round hole. The edges of the hole were smooth with re-hardened, once molten metal. Roandil approached and pulled on the double doors. They swung outwards with a squeaking of hinges. "Calcelmo must have went through here."

Arniel cast a Magelight spell with a flourish, and a spectral orb of white light floated out into the room beyond.

It appeared to be an ancient amphitheatre, thought Roandil. Where they were standing, the stone balustrades descended on three sides, converging on a cracked stage. Statues of Dwarven spheres sat on stone plinths amidst where spectators may have once gathered. This room carried a statelier aura than its predecessors, and for a brief moment, Roandil felt a genuine awe of the history of such a place. Then he remembered, "This is going to take an _age_ to map."

"Look," Arniel pointed, sending the Magelight down towards the stage. A second set of doors to the back of the stage led further underground it seemed. They were flung wide open, and the room beyond remained mostly in obscurity. But what Arniel was really pointing at was a figure, spread eagled on its back to the side of the stage.

"Falmer," whispered Roandil. He shared a nervous glance with Arniel.

"Maybe it's old?" suggested Arniel.

"Cast Detect Life," said Roandil.

"Right." Arniel made the symbols with his hands. The Magelight vanished, plunging the room into darkness. A few seconds passed. "Nothing alive is close," announced Arniel, "but there are more dead ones beyond."

Roandil nodded. "We should tell the others. Stenvar and Tashine will handle this. That's what we pay them for after all."

Arniel agreed, and they retreated from the amphitheatre to the dining hall. It was Arniel who sought out Cato to alert him to their discovery, because Roandil's condition had begun to worsen quickly. He took a seat, putting his back up against the cool stone wall, closed his eyes, and tried to breathe de-

Vomit came violently, as he put his head between his knees and his stomach emptied itself. Everyone else in the room heard the retching and looked at him.

"The wood elf has hair ball?" K'Jor inquired.

"Ugh. That was graceful," said Roandil. The nausea was gone now, replaced with weakness and exhaustion. He crawled to his bedroll and collapsed. Tashine appeared above him in his hazy field of vision. "Don't let me get eaten by Falmer," he said, and then drifted into unconsciousness.

* * *

Tashine watched with concern as Roandil seemed to faint. The colour in his cheeks had drained, and he was running a fever. "Does anyone know restoration magic?" she asked.

Arniel and Brelyna snickered.

"What?"

"Sorry, we don't," said Brelyna. "Calcelmo does. How far do you think he's gotten?"

Arniel answered her. "He may have run into trouble. He took out a den of Falmer in the amphitheatre, but there might be more."

Cato interjected, "Our base of operations here isn't safe until we can find a way to block any Falmer from reaching our position. Tashine, Stenvar: clear the relevant sectors and report back. If you find Calcelmo, tell him what's happened to Roandil, and ask for a progress update on Blackreach."

Tashine nodded, and looked to Stenvar. Suiting up for their expedition was a miniature ordeal. Falmer could smell you and hear you, but not see, so to keep silent, Stenvar had to trade his clanky steel boots for Kjeld's old soft leather ones. Tashine's cuirass squeaked if she moved experimentally in it, but it would have to do. She was familiar enough with the equipment to know what movements would make noise.

Her steel shield, veteran of the war against the Thalmor, fitted snugly on her arm. In other hand, she swung a steel mace. Cato approached them with scrolls he had had stowed away long ago. Tashine selected a fireball, and Stenvar selected a frost atronach.

They then received Magelights from Arniel and Brelyna, tethered to their armour. It was safer this way than a torch, which would both emit a smell and flicker noisily in a strong breeze.

Suited up, the sellswords headed out, through the corridors.

"Can I ask you something?" said Tashine to Stenvar.

"Yea?"

Tashine chewed her lip, considering how to phrase her question. "Do you think it's a coincidence that Kjeld died overnight and Roandil is sick?"

Stenvar glanced at her in surprise, scratching his beard. "You don't think it is," he stated matter-of-factly.

"No. I think they've been poisoned."

"Wha? On purpose?"

"Not necessarily," said Tashine, mulling through her thoughts. "I confronted Deep-in-his-Cups about the skooma," she confessed.

Stenvar groaned. "Oh why did you do that?"

"Was he selling to Kjeld, Stenvar?"

"Kjeld? He doesn't seem the type. Neither does Roandil."

"I've known old miners turn to skooma for back pain," said Tashine. She had to admit though, that it did not seem likely in Roandil's case.

They reached the corridor with the valve and the melted door.

"It just doesn't sit right," said Tashine. "Call it instinct if you like, or paranoia, but something just seems off about Kjeld and Roandil."

Tashine reached out and pulled open the doors ahead of them. They stepped out into the amphitheatre.

"Oh look at that," said Stenvar. He pointed, and walked towards a small raised dais amidst the balustrades. On the dais were two tall-backed stone thrones, and immediately in front of them, a bronze lever.

"I wouldn't pull that if I were you," warned Tashine, but she followed him to the dais anyway, where Stenvar was knelt to inspect the lever more closely. He shrugged, and gave the lever an experimental pull.

In response, a metallic click sounded from below, followed by a whirling sound. In the magelight, Tashine saw the source: down on the stage four sets of blades had emerged and were spinning in place.

"Just imagine," chuckled Stenvar, "the King and the Queen would sit here to watch a show. And if they didn't enjoy the performance – "

"That's cruel," cried Tashine.

"That's dwarves for you. I mean, they blinded an entire race, they ain't known for being sympathetic."

Stenvar pulled the lever again and the blades folded up and retreated into the stage. Tashine led the way down the steps towards the stage, pausing to look at the body of one of the Falmer Calcelmo had apparently killed.

Tashine had to admit she was a bit nervous, since she had never fought Falmer before. She had seen and fought many creatures in her lifetime, but fighting in the shadows was always tricky, especially against an unfamiliar foe, and doubly so against an enemy in their own element.

She flexed her shield arm and continued forwards through the doors at the far end of the stage. The Magelight, which was floating above her head, illuminated a wide but shallow room beyond, where actors might once have prepared for their entrance. There were doors at both ends of the room.

"Which way?" mouthed Tashine.

Stenvar pointed to the right, where the bodies of two more Falmer lay. It seemed a likely place to start.

At the threshold of the door, Tashine stopped. The ground here was slick with a dark red stain. Falmer blood, she thought at first. She took a look at the dead Falmer nearby, and something sat uneasily with her. These ones, and the one on stage, had died from shock damage, with no bleeding. Did something happen to Calcelmo?

Opening the door revealed an immediate left turn, followed by a narrow corridor, opening onto a larger room. This featured more stone furniture, partitioned spaces, and a control panel with numerous buttons. At the far end of the room, a sloping floor descended to an open set of doors. "How deep IS this place?" thought Tashine.

Nearing the slope, Tashine spotted an object lying against the wall: an empty wooden chest.

 _Click click click_

Tashine exchanged glances with Stenvar. The noise was coming from beyond the doors at the slope's bottom. Stenvar hoisted his greatsword and crept down the slope.

 _Click click click_

Tashine followed suit, tensing her muscles, her senses hyper-alert.

Stenvar reached the door. No matter how quiet they were, the door would alert whatever was on the other side. Stenvar looked at Tashine, and she mouthed the words, 'three, two, one'. Stenvar pushed the door, and it swung open with a squeak.

 _Click click click click_

A scuttling in the darkness. Tashine scrutinized the room, looking for the target.

Then, something hit her square in the face.

She reeled, eyes stinging. A muffled scream. The skin of her face was burning, covered in tar. She dropped her mace and grasped at her throat, frantically wiping her eyes.

 _CLICK CLICK CLICK CLICK_

She could hear Stenvar shout, heard the clanging of his greatsword against armour. A whirling ball of frost magic chilled the air.

A hiss. Shouting.

Tashine's eyes were stinging, but she could just make out her mace on the floor. Grabbing it back, she charged into the room.

Stenvar was grappling with a monstrous Falmer warrior. A shaman was shooting her frost magic from nearby.

Tashine shield-charged the warrior and rounded on the shaman. She heard Stenvar's sword sink into flesh behind her as she swiped at the retreating Falmer.

A shard of ice formed in the shaman's hand and glinted in the Magelight. Tashine raised her shield just in time. The shard pieced the steel and stopped inches short of her chest.

She was backing the Falmer into the wall, removing her room to retreat. The shaman raised her arms, readying another volley of shards. Tashine didn't give her the chance. Leaping forwards, she drove her mace down, crushing in her skull. The magic died with the shaman, and she crumpled in a broken heap.

Tashine turned to Stenvar with a grin on her face.

 _CLICK CLICK CLICK CLICK_

She didn't see the thing on the floor. Chaurus pincers bit into her ankle painfully, and she screamed. The chaurus reared up on its hind legs, crawling up her body, pincers scraping at her cuirass. She sent her mace into its head with a crack, but it didn't lose energy.

The pincers closed around her leg, and pulled, toppling her over. The insect was dragging her, somewhere deeper into the ruin. "Stenvar!" she shouted.

Her Magelight had extinguished itself somehow. Stenvar's was still there, and he was fighting another insect. There were more of them. Their multiple eyes glowed green and evil.

They dragged her to a tunnel made in the far wall of the room. She was nearly there when the chaurus released her, and with horror, she saw something emerge from that hole.

 _CLICK CLICK CLICK_

An insect twice the size of the others scuttled into the room, the clicking of its pincers lost in a sickly echo.

It reared, and spat venom. Tashine closed her eyes and raised her shield to block it. The chaurus' pincers sunk into the shield, biting through steal like butter. Tashine released the shield, kicked upwards and reached for her scroll.

The chaurus spat the shield away, clicking with abandon, and sunk its head towards its victim.

The explosion hit the chaurus right between the pincers. It reared, squealing. Tashine scrambled to her feet and retreated. The fire light blinded the insects, lit up the room. Tashine saw them all: four insects, Stenvar warding off two of them, a crumpled, dismembered body in the corner in torn blue robes…

Tashine smashed her mace into one of Stenvar's insects, making barely a dent in the chitin. "Let's go!"

They dashed back towards the narrow room. The clicking pursued them. Pain pierced Tashine's calf as pincers snagged it.

"Your scroll," she gasped, smashing at the chaurus with her mace. Another insect crawled on top of the first, lunging at Tashine. She stuck it in the face with the mace, retreating further.

The portal to oblivion opened between her and the insects, and out from it stepped a frost atronach, towering in the room, radiating a freezing aura.

Stenvar grabbed her by the arm and they ran back into the amphitheater. "The lever," she nearly screamed at Stenvar. She was hobbling now. She couldn't put weight on her right foot. Her left leg was weak too. They cleared the stage and she collapsed with a groan. She shooed Stenvar. "Go. Go!"

He nodded, taking the stairs two at a time. His Magelight followed him, leaving Tashine in the shadows.

 _Click Click_

The scuttling was coming nearer. The atronach's aura drew close, it's feet stomping loudly. There was a crackling as it died and was sent back to Oblivion.

 _CLICK CLICK CLICK_

They were very close now. They could smell her blood, surely. If not, they'd hear her ragged breathing. The scuttling drew nearer still, amplified by a quirk of acoustics in the amphitheatre.

A faint metallic clink. A sound of whirling. A frantic clicking. A foul odour.

Pieces of chaurus rained down around Tashine, sliced by the blades and flung off stage. Some of them still twitched. Legs curled and uncurled spastically. Tashine shivered and felt woozy.

She heard heavy footsteps approach, a deep voice say things that she could no longer understand. Then the feeling of strong hands hooking under her body and lifting her up, carrying her to safety.


	4. DAY 3

DAY 3

Cato woke groggily in his bedroll with a sigh. Without sunlight, it was impossible to tell whether it was day or night, and it was starting to take its toll. On top of this, the situation had started to spin out of control. Tarise and Stenvar had barely returned alive from clearing chaurus in the lower depths. Tarise was badly injured, and it was take time for her body to work out the chaurus venom. She had been semi-delusional when she returned, but kept saying that Calcelmo was dead. Stenvar and Cato had then gone back to check, and found his body.

Calcelmo's death was tragic. Especially because he was Markarth's court wizard, and now Cato would have to explain that to the Jarl.

So far, four expedition members were dead, and two ill or injured, the rest stuck underground with excruciatingly slow progress on digging out the exit.

Cato heaved another sigh and tried to get some rest. How strange that he'd woken so early, before his dig shift.

It then occurred to Cato that it was unusually quiet it. He opened his eyes in earnest, and looked towards the far end of the dining room, towards the collapsed hallway. No sound of swinging pickaxes. Nobody was working. His eyes weren't as keen as they had once been, but he could make out two pickaxes casually leaning against the wall, and nobody swinging them.

Grumbling, Cato got out of bed, trying to remember whose shift was meant to be before his. Eoric? Yeah that's right, thought Cato. Lazy oaf.

He soon discovered that Eoric's bedroll was empty. Where in Oblivion did he go?

The others were all asleep. J'Kier and K'Jor curled up together on a bed of furs. Tashine and Stenvar occupied bedrolls against the wall. Roandil was sleeping on his stomach clutching a bottle of minor healing potion. Brelyna and Arniel were further on, wrapped in flannel blankets from the College. Deep-in-his-Cups was twitching restlessly on his bedroll, away from the others.

Cato checked amongst the stone tables, making his way to the smoldering cooking fire and supplies. The fire was nearly out, and the food untouched from the night before. Eoric hadn't been around to make the morning meal yet.

He soon discovered why. Cato approached the caved-in hallway and found Eoric. He was lying face first in the rubble, an angry gash in the back of his head. A bloodstained chunk of rubble lay nearby.

 _Cato's Expedition Journal_

 _Day 3_

 _Eoric lost today._

 _Total count: 9_

 _Brelyna Maryon is assuming Eoric's role as cook._

 _If another able-bodied worker dies, or is injured, we may not have enough resources to dig our way out._

* * *

"How are you feeling?" asked Tashine.

Roandil turned his golden-orange eyes on her. "Better than yesterday."

They were both sitting upright in their bedrolls while the others scurried around, preparing to bury Eoric next to Kjeld in the rubble, while continuing work on the escape route.

"How long have you been Cato's assistant?"

"Hmm," the wood elf considered. "We go way back, him and I. We've worked together on and off for ten years now. When Calcelmo hired Cato for the contracting work on this job, I became his secretary."

"I'm sorry about Calcelmo," said Tashine, "I wish we could have saved him."

"He was a brilliant man. Insufferable of course, but still." Roandil stifled a yawn. "So, Tashine, what made you leave Hammerfell?"

Tashine toyed with the edge of her bedroll. "Seeking adventure I suppose. Civil war provides plenty of opportunity for us sellswords."

Roandil nodded. "So it does." He ventured further, "Do you have an opinion on the Civil War?"

Tashine shrugged, "The Empire abandoned Hammerfell, you know. The White-Gold concordat ceded the southern coasts to the Thalmor. We rejected the terms, fought on as an independent country, and defeated the Thalmor alone." Roandil caught a glint of pride in her eyes as she said this.

Roandil considered if having a political discussion was a good idea. Ah whatever, let's stir up this hornets nest, he thought. "You realize that's exactly what the Thalmor wanted? Hammerfell independent. Skyrim independent. The Empire virtually dead. When they return to Tamriel, it will be considerably easier to conquer."

Tashine was quiet and pensive, spinning the wedding band on her finger around and around. Roandil decided not to pry further. "Just something to think about."

Roandil got up to leave, but nearly backed into Deep-in-his-Cups. The argonian was fidgeting slightly, and Roandil registered alarm. "What's wrong?"

The argonian's eyes flicked between him and Tashine. "She's gone through my things."

Roandil looked to Tashine. She wore a puzzled expression. "What are you talking about," asked the bosmer.

"My things. Things are moved. Things are missing. You stole it." His hands shook. His beady yellow eyes were tinged with bloodshot.

"Your skooma?" Tashine suggested.

The argonian jumped. "SSssshhhhh."

Roandil looked from Tashine to Deep-in-his-Cups in surprise. She was right. Roandil cursed himself for not realizing it sooner. The argonian's behaviour was erratic on occasion, his movements fidgety, but he and Cato and had dismissed it out of hand. Roandil wondered if he should tell the boss. What would it change? He could kill the argonian, but they needed him to help dig themselves to freedom. The more pressing matter was before him now. The argonian was looming on Tashine, tail whipping back and forth.

"Give it back," he hissed.

Tashine leaned away from him. "I didn't take anything. Are you sure you didn't just drink it all yourself?"

The argonian stopped, appeared to consider it. Tashine continued, "It will be okay. You can sleep it off."

Deep-in-his-Cups shook his head. "No, it was stolen. You knew about it."

Tashine sighed. "So did Stenvar. He's the one who told me… did Eoric know about it?"

Roandil looked curiously at Tashine. He was a smart mer; he could guess what her real suspicion was. Cato had said, and the others believed, that the stone that killed Eoric had fallen from the ceiling- a tragic accident. But the morbid side of Roandil's mind couldn't help but fleetingly consider the alternative. There should have been no motive for killing Eoric… unless a skooma addict thought he'd stolen the stash.

Roandil saw Cato at the far end of the room, helping J'Kier and K'Jor make supports for the walls and ceiling. He wanted to draw them over to help diffuse the situation, but he didn't want to cause alarm nor leave Tashine alone with the argonian.

"You're okay," he said to Deep-in-his-Cups, grabbing his attention. "But I need you to go help work on the grave now. I won't tell Cato anything, promise?"

The argonian seemed less tense. "Thank you, friend," he said.

Roandil willed him to walk away. The argonian gave Tashine a fierce stare, but after a moment, retreated into the corridors where the graves were being dug.

Tashine exchanged a meaningful glance with Roandil. "You should tell Cato anyway," she said.

"Skooma or no, we need him to help us. If I tell Cato, he'll get mad. Might kill him."

Tashine grabbed Roandil's wrist, "If you don't tell him, I will." She leaned in then, "Nobody seems to believe me. Kjeld's death, now Eoric's death? I think they're suspicious. And I think the rest of us are in danger."

"What do you want Cato to do about it?"

"I want him to be on his guard. For all of us to be."

Roandil exhaled. "Alright. I'll tell him."

"WHAT?" Cato fumed when Roandil told him. "How long has he been getting away with this under my nose?"

Roandil shrugged. "Maybe always."

Cato eyed the Khajiits. J'Kier and K'Jor looked worriedly at their boss. "No, no. Khajiit knows nothing!" said J'Kier.

K'Jor added, "This one does not touch the skooma... anymore."

Roandil interjected, "We still need him to help work on the exit. And there's no proof he was behind the deaths."

"Of course we need him," said Cato, "I'm not in the habit of making rash decisions."

"This one is glad to hear it," said K'Jor.

"Keep him occupied with digging. We might as well put that energy to use. The rest of us will continue mapping the rooms and corridors."

Before work began in earnest, all the expedition members gathered around the loose pile of rubble that had become the gravesite for Kjeld, Eoric, and what remained of Calcelmo's body. Cato led the process by saying the traditional consolatory words. Then others added their own sentiments. He made good rabbit stew. He would be missed. He was a hard worker.

The team returned to work in a sombre mood. J'Kier, K'Jor, and Deep-in-his-Cups remained in the dining room to continue clearing the blocked hallway. Brelyna also stayed behind to prepare evening meals, and so did Tashine to supervise and guard the room against the remote threat of Dwarven machines. The others set themselves to the task of mapping the labyrinthine corridors.

"Could you chop some firewood into kindling?" asked Brelyna.

Tashine was leaning against the wall nearby, "Sure, no problem."

She dutifully crossed to where the pile of firewood had been stacked by Eoric two days ago, found the hatchet, and began shaving the side of the wood into smaller pieces.

"Is the College treating you well?" she asked.

"Oh yes, wonderfully. I'm learning lots."

Tashine smiled, "I've seen you cast Detect Dead spells. Those are tough to get right, aren't they?"

"They can be. Alteration is one of my strongest subjects though. You know I once turned somebody into a cow?" she laughed.

"On purpose?" Tashine raised an eyebrow with a concerned expression.

"Aha no, it was an accident. I managed to change them back though."

Brelyna inspected a nearby barrel and selected a slab of salted beef.

"You're quite the warrior. Where did you learn to fight?" asked Brelyna.

Tashine paused in her woodcutting, looking dreamily at something off in the distance. "My brothers I suppose," she began…

Tashine had always played rough as a young girl, even when she was barely big enough to swing a scimitar.

"Oh Tasha, you're growing up now. You need to learn to be a lady," her mother scolded her, wiping the dirt from her daughter's face.

"It's not fair mummy, my brothers get to fight."

"Because your brothers are boys. One day they will be men, and they'll enlist with the legion."

Tashine frowned, her thick eyebrows furrowing together in one long, angry line. "I want to join the legion too."

"No you don't," her mother said warningly. "There's a war brewing with the Aldmeri Dominion, and you don't want to get involved."

"What's the Old Merry Dominium?" asked Tashine.

It was several years later when the war finally broke out, and Aldmeri troops landed on the coasts of Hammerfell. Two of her elder brothers had enlisted, and a third was packing up to leave. Tashine begged her mother to let her go with him.

"Do you know what it does to a mother," her mother said, "to watch her children go off to war? Of course you don't. Not until you have children of your own."

"I don't want children of my own."

Her mother sobbed. "Oh Tasha, why can't you accept your mother's wisdom?"

Tashine sulked and retreated to her room, where she took her father's steel shield from off its place on the wall. She ran her hands over the surface, feeling all the scratches and gouge-marks, testaments to a brave military career. Her father had supported their family for years with this shield, and even in death, his pension gave them enough to afford a relatively comfortable existence. She steeled her resolve. Later that night she stole her brother's armour and her brother's horse, and rode off to join the legion in his place.

"Here, is this enough kindling?" Tashine presented her work to Brelyna. The dark elf nodded.

Suddenly there came a yelp from one of the Khajiit. "Ahh no no no, you will hit this one's toe!"

Deep-in-his-Cups, apparently, was having a case of the shakes. Brelyna exchanged a glance with Tashine.

"I'd better try and calm things down," said Tashine, getting up and leaving Brelyna with the cooking.

Brelyna arranged the kindling under the cooking pot and set it ablaze with a simple flame spell. Tashine's story made her miss her own family, despite her usual protestations. They doted on her, pushed her to be her best, sent ceaseless letters to her at the college asking about her. One of the best things about being at the college, for Brelyna, was being away from all the attention and expectations. She liked the independence. Nevertheless, she knew her parents meant well. The ruin of Shdarthan-zel was a dreary place, especially now that they were trapped inside. Oh, what she wouldn't do to be back at the college, or even at home right now?

Somewhere in the head, a tiny voice was panicking. It was subdued, for now, but it had spoken loudly when her Detect Dead spell had registered the two guards at the entrance. It screamed at her when she discovered Kjeld's cold, lifeless body. It was there when Tashine and Stenvar had come limping back into sight after fighting the Falmer, and when she had glimpsed Eoric's body being moved to the grave. The eerie premonition was tugging at her. She felt feelings of vulnerability, of impending mortal danger.

"Nonsense," she muttered to herself, "everything's fine."

* * *

"Deep-in-his-Cups ran away," said Tashine.

Everyone (except the argonian) had convened back in the dining room for the evening meal.

"Perhaps that's a good thing," replied Cato. "Give him some time alone. He'll be back when he gets hungry."

Roandil spoke up. "We haven't found a path that leads anywhere adjacent to the entrance room. We might be out of luck on that front."

"I think we can officially give up on that," agreed Cato. "How about a progress report on the tunnel?"

J'Kier answered, "Progress is good. Khajiit expects we will make it before food runs out."

Arniel Gane spoke next. "Can we not continue searching for Blackreach? I would be very interested."

Cato sighed, rubbed his temples. "Stenvar, do you think the way is clear?"

"Yeah, we got all the Falmer. There might be more, but it's nothing we can't handle." He nudged Tashine, who was sitting next to him.

"There will still be animunculi. They get stronger the deeper you go in these places," said Cato.

Stenvar chuckled. "That's what you hired us for."

After meal, they again decided to portion out mead and tell tales to pass the time.

"Tell us about this girl you like," said Stenvar, clapping Roandil on the back in a comradely way.

"What do you want to know?" said the elf.

"What does she look like?"

Roandil smiled, "Her hair is long and dark. Her skin is smooth and olivine. She has the most beautiful brown eyes."

Stenvar whistled in appreciation. "Why don't you marry her?"

"Oh. I don't know. I'm not sure she likes me back."

"Do you write to her in Valenwood?"

"Yeah."

"Does she write back?"

"Yeah."

Cato interjected, "He writes to her while he's supposed to be working for ME."

Stenvar laughed. Roandil looked sheepish.

"So what's the problem?" asked Stenvar.

"There's this Imperial man that she likes."

"How do you know she likes him?"

Roandil cocked his head in thought. "You see, by bosmer standards, Imperials seem tall and dark and handsome."

Cato tapped his chin, "Is that so?"

Roandil groaned. "There's also the Imperial power of persuasion. He's a merchant's son. He knows how to get what he wants out of a conversation."

"So do something about it," said Stenvar.

"Oh I intend to," Roandil said, without elaborating. He took the final swig from the bottle of mead.

Before long, the remaining members of the group were tired. Brelyna, Roandil, Stenvar, and the Khajiit twins went to sleep. Tashine, who had been rested for most of the morning, recovering from her chaurus wounds, had more energy. She was working it off with a pickaxe in the collapsed hallway. Cato remained awake, pouring through his journal, and Arniel was nearby, studying the maps they had created earlier.

"Isn't it fascinating? To think of all the history in a place like this," marveled Arniel.

Cato grunted. "It would be more fascinating if our way out of it weren't blocked by ten tonnes of stone."

Arniel scarcely heard him. "I wonder what these rooms here were used for…"

Cato stifled a yawn. "Perhaps for sleeping." He ran his finger down the page of his journal. There he had listed the names of all the expedition members. Five of them now were crossed off, to his shame. In a way, it reminded him of a time long ago, when he had been responsible for a platoon of legionnaires... His finger rested over the name of the argonian, Deep-in-his-Cups. He hadn't returned to camp yet, and it bothered him. Perhaps he ought to send a search party. Or rather, Cato thought, he should look for him himself. The argonian was his worker and his responsibility.

"I'm going to go look for Deep-in-his-Cups," Cato announced.

Arniel looked up from his maps. "Do you want my help?" He formed a symbol with his hand and cast the Detect Life spell. Perhaps he would be useful, Cato admitted.

They set off down the corridors in the glow of the mage's Magelight. At intervals, to allow Arniel's magicka to recover, he cast the Detect Life spell and searched for lights only he could see.

"Nothing yet," said Arniel.

"What kind of range does that spell get?" asked Cato.

"I can see people through walls and floors. But they have to be relatively close. I'm not sure what the precise distance threshold is."

They turned down a sloping corridor that would eventually lead to a dead end.

"Nothing here." Arniel lowered his hand.

Cato frowned. "Are you sure the spell works?"

"Of course," Arniel cried indignantly. "I can see the two of us."

"Oh. Good." A morbid thought occurred to Cato. "Cast Detect Dead."

Arniel made another symbol and looked about. He appeared to stare at a point behind them, but then shook his head. "Just the grave site."

They left the dead end and continued on down the corridor. They arrived at the junction where the sloping corridor led to the amphitheatre. Cato tried to imagine he was a skooma-addicted argonian running from people. Which way would he go? 'Into the amphitheatre' struck him as the likeliest answer, especially since they had been mapping the corridors beyond when he had run. However, he didn't want to explore the as-yet unexplored bowels of Shdarthan-zel without exhausting the alternative. Passing the amphitheatre entrance, they pushed on into the maze of corridors and gated rooms.

At last, they explored the final corridor, and discovered it deserted. Cato and Arniel turned about-face and were heading back towards the main corridor, when Arniel stopped.

"Someone's there!" he exclaimed. "Just around the corner."

Relieved, Cato called out, "Deep-in-your-Cups, is that you?"

There was no answer. Cato could make out an orange light in the distance, playing on the stone walls at the junction, but the torch that cast it remained around the corner. A silhouette moved into the hallway, and melded with the shadows.

"What are you doing?" shouted Cato, his voice echoing up and down the hall. The hair on the back of his neck stood on end.

A soft twang, then a rush of air. The sound of impact next to him. Arniel's Magelight vanished before his body hit the floor, plunging the corridor into absolute, inky blackness.

Cato threw himself to the side, colliding with the wall. His pupils dilated, trying to adjust to the darkness in vain. His heart was beating so hard, it gave him a headache. He struggled to keep his breathing quiet. Every muscle in his body was tensed; his mind screamed at him to run. The darkness remained inscrutable. He was paralyzed.

Footfalls sounded far off down the corridor, approaching.

NO.

Cato was suddenly marching through a copse of cypress trees, the sun shrouded in rainclouds. The first fireball slammed into the carriage ahead of him, flinging burning shards of wood into his face. He dropped down, and watched as his men fought the ambush. There were too many of them. His men were cut down where they fought. The attackers pursued. He saw an opening.

He ran.

In the darkness, he was blind. He tripped over Arniel's body, crashed into the walls. The noise echoed down the hall, and still the footsteps approached. If he could just round the corner, and beat the pursuer to the next hallway over, he might yet make it back.

Cato collided with something hard. A Dwemer pot on its pedestal. He collapsed, winded and sprawling. The footsteps were alarmingly close now. He could no longer run. It was too late.

The hall went quiet. Cato clutched his chest, felt the presence at his side. In his final moments, he knew fear, darkness, and cold steel biting his throat.


	5. DAY 4

DAY 4

K'Jor was the first to wake the next day, and quickly noticed Cato and Arniel missing. He shook Roandil, and the elf groggily opened his eyes.

"Wake up! The boss is gone."

Roandil sat up and noticed Cato's empty bedroll. "Wake the others," he ordered.

Soon, six people in varying states of sleepiness peered about them with concern.

Brelyna spoke, "Arniel is gone too? I don't like this." The panic in her head was coming to the fore again.

"So is the argonian, still," noted Stenvar.

Roandil scratched his slow-growing stubble. "Cato kept a journal. Maybe he left a note in there. Hmm, let's see… Yes. The last entry: 'Need to search for Deep-in-his-Cups, who retreated into the ruins earlier today. Arniel Gane has volunteered to come with me.'"

J'Kier mused aloud, "Perhaps he is still looking. Perhaps boss just left?"

Roandil shook his head. "In the morning he writes his daily expedition journal. There isn't one for today, so this entry must be from last night. I don't think that bodes well for them."

Tashine huffed. "An ex-legionnaire and a College trained mage? They should be fine."

"We should look for them," squeaked Brelyna.

"Of course," said Tashine. She stood. "Stenvar and I will go out to look. Brelyna, you can come too, if you'd like. We could use your magic."

Brelyna looked surprised. "Oh okay. Sure. Anything you need."

Tashine continued, "J'Kier and K'Jor, take the first shift on the dig. Roandil, you'll have to prepare the meal."

Roandil grimaced, "I make no promises for the taste."

Tashine nodded, reaching for her mace. "Let's move out."

* * *

"You're a natural leader," said Stenvar. They were walking down the main corridor, Stenvar and Tashine ahead and Brelyna following closely behind.

"I am not!" protested Tashine.

"We may need you to be," said Stenvar.

They arrived at the junction where the amphitheatre entrance branched off from the main corridor.

"Let's check the other corridors up here first," suggested Stenvar. "I was working on the mapping yesterday. It's mostly dead-ends and empty rooms."

Only a few paces further, they nearly tripped over an object lying on the ground: a dwarven bow.

"Was that here yesterday?" asked Tashine.

"Nope. One of these rooms was a weapons storeroom. It must have come from there."

The trio moved on. At the very end of the corridor, Brelyna cast her magic again and squeaked. "To the left," she whispered.

In the light of their torches, they came upon Arniel Gane's body, with a single dwarven arrow to the heart.

Brelyna's heart sank. She wanted nothing more than to run away and return to her dorm in the College of Winterhold. Arniel had been so kind to her, sharing (albeit guardedly) his research interests and suggesting she accompany him on his trip to the archaeological expedition that was the talk of Winterhold.

Tashine held a grim look. Was death coming for them all, one by one?

Stenvar cursed under his breath. So many people had died now that he wondered if anyone would hire him for security again. He said aloud, "Cato might still be alive."

Brelyna sobbed. She cast the Detect Dead spell again, and pointed further up the hallway.

Tashine and Stenvar followed the direction of her gaze, and saw a second slumped body a fair distance away. Approaching, they discovered Cato, with his armour drenched in blood and a scarily large pool of it staining the floor.

The three of them backed away in horror. Stenvar exchanged a glance with Tashine. "You were right about Deep-in-his-Cups, it seems."

Tashine was silent for a moment. Her mind was puzzled. "I don't know. I assumed he poisoned Kjeld by accident, and killed Eoric in a fight over skooma. This is… different."

Brelyna looked fearful. "There must be a den of Falmer further down."

Stenvar squinted and flexed his jaw. "Falmer don't drop dwarven bows on their way back home."

"So… the argonian?" squeaked Brelyna.

Tashine straightened up. "We need to get back to the others. Now."

Stenvar and Brelyna nodded, recognizing the urgency in her voice. They jogged through the corridors back to the dining hall.

When they emerged in the torchlit room, the Khajiit were still working on the dig and Roandil was putting the finishing touches on breakfast. Tashine breathed a sigh of relief, and realized how ironic that was.

Roandil looked up, and raised his eyebrows. Tashine shook her head. Roandil understood.

* * *

Over breakfast, the six remaining members convened a meeting. Reality was starting to settle in.

"We're never getting out of here, are we?" said Brelyna.

"O no no," said J'Kier, "do not say that. This one remains optimistic."

Roandil winced. "With only six people digging, our resources won't last long enough for us to dig out."

K'Jor interjected, "Khajiit will work twice as hard on the excavation!"

His brother nodded excitedly, "Yes. And perhaps the snakeskinned one is in better shape than boss or the skinny mage. Then we have seven."

Stenvar baulked. "He's killed four of us already, and he'd sooner kill the rest of us than help us dig out."

The Khajiit shared a look of confusion. Tashine realized they still didn't suspect. She explained her suspicions about the deaths of Kjeld and Eoric, and the possibility that he was behind Arniel and Cato too.

"Ahhh yes," said J'Kier. "Skooma does horrible things to the mind. This is why Khajiit does not partake."

K'Jor countered, "The argonian did not seem to be on skooma to me. This one thinks he was instead suffering a lack of the skooma…" The others gave him a curious look, and he muttered into his fur, "…K'Jor is not proud to admit he knows about such things."

There was a lull in conversation. Then Stenvar voiced a thought. "The Falmer had a food source. Perhaps we can eat that? …Actually, how did the Falmer get in here? Not through the front entrance, certainly. Maybe there's another way out."

"Leading us straight through a Falmer den," said Tashine. She cracked the vertebrae in her neck, imagining a chaurus clamping its pincers around her face. "I say we try to make it to Blackreach and back up."

"Really?" Roandil asked.

"Yeah. That great lift on the side of the mountain must come up from _somewhere_. We just need to find the bottom of it, which means finding Blackreach."

Brelyna croaked, "Without Arniel or Calcelmo, we won't know how to find the portal."

Roandil ventured, "Are you thinking the portal will be magical in nature? I think it's likely not; the Dwemer were religiously mechanical. I think I've worked for Calcelmo long enough to recognize the entrance to Blackreach if it were right in front of me."

J'Kier piped up, "What are we waiting for? Let's do it!"

Tashine looked around the circle. "Everyone agreed?" Five people nodded. "Good."

She stood up and paced nervously, collecting her thoughts.

"In theory, we could make it to Blackreach and escape within the day. In that case, we wouldn't need to bring supplies with us. But if not, we'd need to trek back here at the end of the day, and in our absence, Deep-in-his-Cups, or Falmer, could steal or poison it. Another cave-in could block our access. Then we'd starve. We'll have to move some or all of the supplies with us as we move further into the ruin."

"We could split up," suggested Stenvar. "Half of us could clear the way to Blackreach while the other half moves food and supplies."

"I don't think we should split up," Tashine said firmly. "He took out both Cato and Arniel. That's not something to take lightly."

Roandil coughed. "Nevertheless, I don't want to run into a Steam Centurion while carrying a barrel of salt beef."

Tashine considered a moment. "Let's pack supplies for three days. If things take longer, we'll have to risk coming back here."

All six got to work preparing to move out. For Brelyna, this meant cooking food for the journey. J'Kier and K'Jor bundled together a pile of firewood for heat, Stenvar gathered together healing potions, bandages and such. Roandil was busily organizing the maps they had so painstakingly created, and Tashine was rolling up enough bedrolls for six.

Having finished packing, they left the dining room and proceeded through the corridor until they reached the dwarven bow, still lying on the floor.

"Is anybody a good archer?" asked Tashine.

J'Kier nodded enthusiastically, "Khajiit is excellent archer. But a bow needs arrows."

J'Kier took the bow, and everyone continued to the armoury, where they found a quiver of dwarven arrows. Roandil selected a dagger.

"K'Jor does not need weapons," said K'Jor. "This one has claws."

Suitably equipped, they returned to the amphitheatre and continued on into the wide and shallow room behind the stage which had a door at both ends. Instead of turning right, to where the Falmer den had been, they turned left. The other door lead onto a staircase that descended seemingly indefinitely. At the bottom, the way was blocked by a locked grate.

"Allow J'Kier to fix this," said the Khajiit, fishing a set of lockpicks from his pack.

In a minute, the door was opened and they emerged into a bare round room, with a door at the far side.

There were several pipes opening into the room, and a faint rattling coming from inside them.

"Weapons out," barked Tashine. Stenvar lifted the greatsword from his back. J'Kier strung his bow. Roandil held out his dagger uncertainly. They stalked forward.

Slam!

The gate behind them swung shut, making everyone jump. The rattling noises grew frenzied, and from inside the pipes came rolling balls of metal.

With a clunk, six spheres dropped to the floor and began to unfold. The dwarven guardians attacked.

J'Kier sent his arrow into the nearest one, jamming its gears. Tashine sent it crashing away with her mace. Sparks flew as Stenvar parried and slashed with his greatsword. Brelyna sent three of them up in flames. The final sphere was occupied by K'Jor. The Khajiit danced around it, digging his claws into the soft dwemer metal and throwing the sphere off-balance. For being millennia old, the spheres were still very spry. They slashed and hacked with their arm-blades. One of them had a crossbow arm, sending bolts ricocheting off Stenvar's armour.

A cry of pain pierced the room. Tashine couldn't see who it was. She focused on defeating the flaming sphere opposite her. She twirled her mace, bringing it down on the machine's shoulder, and it broke apart from the force. She turned to see Stenvar cut through the midriff of the final sphere.

It was K'Jor. He was curled up on the floor, sputtering, as he coughed up blood and clutched a gaping wound in his chest. J'Kier knelt next to his brother, mewling in despair.

They stayed with him until his last ragged breath.

"Should we stay here for today?" asked Tashine.

J'Kier couldn't bring himself to speak, but he nodded. The others left him to grieve while they set up a makeshift camp. Brelyna set up a fire for warmth and parceled out bread and cheese. Tashine rolled out five bedrolls, discarding the extra one at the side of the room. Roandil opened his boss's old journal and decided to write a new entry.

 _Roandil's Expedition Journal_

 _End of Day 4_

 _There are five of us left. Me (Roandil), Brelyna Maryon, Tashine, Stenvar, and J'Kier._

 _Deep-in-his-Cups still possibly alive, but missing, and suspected of killing four of us._

 _We have abandoned our attempt to dig out of the ruin. Instead we are trying to find Blackreach and the bottom of the great lift at Shdarthan-Zel._

Roandil sat back and sighed. The fear of death was wearing heavily on his nerves. One way or another, it seemed, death was inexorably coming for them all. He thought of his lover from Valenwood, wishing very much to see her again. He reflected on his time in Cato's employ, and his mission on this expedition. The maps would be useful, even if he didn't make it out. Some intrepid adventurer, maybe, or a rival archaeologist, would surely re-open the entrance to the mine in a few months or years, and his work would reach the ambassador. They'd still need to map the rest of the complex, of course; Roandil himself had only managed to map as far as the amphitheatre. Still, the place was large enough to house an army, and was situated so very close to a natural harbour on the coast, and possibly had access to a vast subterranean kingdom with exits dotted all across Skyrim…

Roandil returned to the journal and penned another few lines.

 _I will leave this journal here in this room, to be found by whoever ventures here next. The maps of Shdarthan-zel I will keep on my person, for however much farther I survive in this place. You can identify my corpse as the bosmer, or, if it is much longer before anyone reads this, as the smallest skeleton. If you are a sympathetic individual, return these to the ambassador, with my gratitude._

 _Sincerely, Agent Roandil._

 _Long live the Aldmeri Dominion!_


	6. DAY 5

A/N: If you've read the story this far, congratulations! By all means, feel free to review!

* * *

DAY 5

The other recruits couldn't contain their laughter when Tashine arrived at the camp. The armour she was wearing was a size too large for her in most places, and too small for her around the chest. One particular boy, a tall boisterous fellow, was laughing the loudest, and so Tashine walked up to him, smiled sweetly, and decked him in the face.

That got a reaction. She swung her fists at the next boy who lunged towards her, fended off a few more. Eventually, someone tackled her from behind and sent her crashing into the dirt.

She finally got up, bruised and sore, when their superior had walked in and ordered them to attention.

She was taken to one of the captains, a tall Nord woman with a kindly expression.

"You have a spark in you I see. That's good," she said. Tashine smiled, and then winced from the bruise on her cheek.

The captain continued, "We'll need to get you into some proper armour though. That's a man's armour isn't it?"

"My brother's,"

"Ah. Well, that won't do," she laughed. "You remind me of myself at your age."

Tashine's life improved markedly thereafter. Her brother's heavy armour was swapped with a lighter imperial uniform, fitted for her by the legion quartermaster. She trained with the others, fought harder than any of them, and gained the attention of her superiors.

A month after her arrival, her brother finally joined the camp. He was livid when he heard they had gotten rid of his armour.

"Do you even know how much that cost mother?" he cried.

"They'll fit you with new armour," Tashine explained. She did feel guilty, though.

Not long after, the training camp had to be relocated. Thalmor troops had advanced quickly along the coast. They'd entered Tashine's village, and she worried what would happen to their mother and their home.

The camp ultimately moved across the Alik'r desert, where she completed her training and officially joined the legion. She took great pride in swearing the oath of loyalty, next to her brother, and her brothers-in-arms whom she'd trained with and come to respect. Even the tall one who she had punched in the face on her first day had grown on her.

"Pashar," he said. They were celebrating the night after the swearing-in ceremony. "I don't think we've ever been properly introduced,"

Tashine laughed, "I've been calling you Black-Eye for years,"

He laughed too. When it wasn't mocking, it was decidedly not unpleasant. That is to say deep and masculine. But also light-hearted. Tashine found herself blushing, thinking how ridiculous it was to place so much attention on a laugh...

* * *

Tashine opened her eyes. In the gloom, she could see Stenvar next to her, snoring gently. Getting up, she crossed to the supplies chest, and fished out a half-loaf of bread. Her stomach growled in anticipation.

Brelyna was awake already, and staring absentmindedly into the fire. She glanced up as Tashine approached and sat down next to her cross-legged.

"It helps keep me calm," confessed the mage.

Tashine nodded, watching the flames dance as well.

"I'm glad we're actually _doing_ something," she continued. "Sitting around in the dining room all day digging was stressful."

Tashine nodded. The Dwarven machines were dangerous, but she was a soldier and fighting was her profession. Digging, by contrast, was decidedly not her cup of tea.

Tashine looked behind her and sought out J'Kier's form, curled into a fetal position next to the body of his twin. For the khajiit, perhaps, the opposite was true. Digging was his profession, and fighting had brought only misery. She felt guilty. K'Jor had died on her watch, following her lead.

Thoughts of the war flickered in her memory. Fireballs and lighting bolt arcing through the sky. Mage-blades clashing against Redguard steel. Her brother's cries of pain as he took a firebolt to the face. The news of her elder brothers. Pashar's smile, his arms around her.

She shook the images from her head. The here and now, that was what was important.

Roandil had woken by now, and trotted over to join the women by the fire. Tashine tore half of her loaf and handed it to him.

"Might as well spread our resources," she said. "I'm not too hungry."

Roandil accepted the bread and sidled up next to Brelyna. Tashine eyed the younger elves knowingly. She got up and discretely left them be. She began packing up their bedrolls in preparation for moving out.

"Good morning," she grinned as she poked Stenvar awake.

Stenvar jumped. "Oof. Already?"

Tashine nodded, rolling up his bedroll once Stenvar had risen.

She crossed to J'Kier, and paused, wondering how best to wake him. With a start, she realized that his eyes were already open, and staring blankly.

"J'Kier?"

The khajiit sighed imperceptibly. He turned his weary eyes on her. He probably hadn't slept at all. "This one apologizes, for the sorrow khajiit feels is large,"

Tashine knelt. "I understand," she said, placing a hand on the khajiit's furry shoulder.

"J'Kier knows sorrow will not change the truth. J'Kier is sorrowful anyway."

Tashine found it harder than she expected to empathize. How many times had she knelt over fallen soldiers during the war, after all? Perhaps there was some solace gained by blaming the Thalmor for their deaths. It was easier still if they were nameless men and women she hadn't personally known. Maybe, by now, she was dull to it.

"We need you now, J'Kier. We're moving out."

The khajiit took a deep breath and nodded, rising and moving about with mechanical movements.

At least, thought Tashine, they still had five people. No one had died in the night, which would be a first since the expedition's outset.

J'Kier's lockpicking skills were needed to open the door at the far end, and doing something helped raise his spirits somewhat.

Successful, the group moved onwards, further into the depths of Shdarthan-zel.

* * *

"Go back," said the first voice.

"Shut up," replied the second.

"They have it. They stole it."

"SHUT UP."

"Please?"

"I can't… they'll kill me."

A voice hissed. "Then kill them first."

 _Click click click_

"Hear that?"

A whine.

"Chaurus. It's coming for you."

"No. It's in my head,"

 _Click click click_

"Get it out. Get it out!"

Claws reached through the darkness and grabbed him. Deep-in-his-cups lashed out at them, scrambling backwards, covering his face.

"It's inside you now."

The argonian felt it. A lump, spreading beneath his scales, made its way up his arm, crawling through his veins. He dug his claws into the flesh, trying to tear it out.

"Get it out! GET IT OUT!"

The insect ignored him, crawling further up his arms. It entered his torso, and the argonian finally gave up. He snapped his head back and screamed, awaiting the horror. It was eating his heart now, tearing with angry teeth.

His mouth opened; no sound came out.

The voice in his head cooed, "It's over now."

"It's over," the argonian repeated.

"Now go back. Find it."

"Find what?"

"You know. The skooma. They stole it."

The argonian looked down at his arms. They were sticky with blood. There was no lump, just scratches.

"Get up," the voice commanded.

The argonian obeyed.

The voice was capering with glee. "Find them! Find it! Make them pay!"

The argonian looked down the corridor. There were no glowing mushrooms to light his way. It was so dark, it yawned into the room and made Deep-in-his-Cups feel small and trapped again.

"Move your foot. Now the other." The voice cackled.

 _Click click click_

"It's coming for you," said the voice, as the argonian dragged himself to his feet. "Go now."

* * *

Much of the day was spent navigating through the endless rooms and corridors. The machinery and layout of the place suggested an ancient workshop. On occasion, they would disturb a spider worker or sphere, but there were never again any truly dangerous threats like the guardians of the round room.

At last, they opened a set of double doors, expecting another dreary room.

"…Wow," exclaimed Brelyna.

Before them was a massive, airy room. The doors opened at the top of a tower, with a spiral ramp descending to the levels below. Beyond, a canyon opened up, encompassing a massive Dwemer structure at the other end. Far below, a path swerved around geodes and pools of shining water, leading from the base of the tower to the cathedral in the distance. Spectacularly, this cavern was decently lit. Fluorescent flowers and mushrooms cast an ethereal glow. The ceiling was peppered with mushrooms, lit like a night sky. The glow was refracted by the geodes far below, casting shadows and light patterns in a dozen muted hues.

Carefully, they made their way down the curving ramp. Two levels down, it bifurcated and sunk towards the ground.

Through the canyon they went. It wasn't as deathly silent in here as the previous rooms had been. The footsteps echoed off the walls of the canyon, and the flutter of strange insect wings could be heard in the far distance.

"How does anything live down here?" asked Brelyna.

Roandil pointed to the pools of water. "Water. Nutrients in the soil. Must be enough for mushrooms to grow. And insects can live off the mushrooms."

Stenvar spoke. "Keep an eye out for chaurus eggs."

But they didn't find any chaurus eggs buy the time they reached the far end of the canyon. Near the base of the cathedral, the dirt path made way for a large stone landing. In the middle of the flagstones was another conspicuous lever. Beyond was a raised drawbridge, blocking the only way into the monstrous construction.

Stenvar exchanged a glance with Tashine.

"We should look for traps first," she said.

Tashine turned to Brelyna, and the latter sent Magelights up the side of the building, looking for ballistas or projectiles that could be launched towards them after trigging the lever.

Finding nothing, Stenvar shrugged, and pulled the lever.

With a creak and a crash, the drawbridge fell, revealing a doorway and a hallway beyond.

They edged forwards, and entered a square room, with a curious plinth in the middle, a chest and a dwarven bust beyond, and to the side a–

Tashine's heart leapt into her throat when she saw it. A dwarven centurion, twice as tall as even Stenvar, and completely immobile. A second one stood guard at the other side of the room. She backed up into Brelyna, ushering her back into the hallway. Stenvar saw them too, and drew his greatsword.

"What is it?" whispered Roandil, who was at the back of the group.

"Centurions," muttered Stenvar. "Dormant centurions."

Tashine eyed the metal faces suspiciously. "I'd rather not wake them up."

They retreated into the hall to decide what they should do.

"We don't have another choice do we?" asked Roandil, "the centurions might be the final defenders on the way to Blackreach."

"Let's hope so," said Tashine.

They tiptoed back into the room with the centurions. They were attached to metal frames and pipes, keeping them supplied with steam. They approached and inspected the central plinth. It was waist-high, mostly stone, and featured glass beads embedded in hoops of bronze metal. At one edge of the plinth, a round depression marked the metal, as if waiting for some object to fit into it.

Roandil ran his fingers over the grooves and markings. "This could be it."

The others looked at him expectantly.

"But we're missing the key. Something fits here." He pointed to the round impression.

Brelyna inhaled sharply, "You mean we came all this way, and the portal is locked?" She began to fidget nervously.

Tashine's chest felt slightly constricted as well. This was it then. Dead end.

K'Jier knelt down and felt the stones below. Surrounding the plinth was a series of creases between the stones that didn't follow the pattern in the rest of the room.

"These are stairs!" he exclaimed.

Tashine put her foot on one of the tiles and put her weight on it. It gave slightly under the pressure.

Roandil examined the floor as well, nodding enthusiastically. "Okay," he mused, "Imagine I'm standing here, I put in the key, and the tiles descend to form stairs… two, four… eight, ten. Ten stairs. They must lead somewhere, right? Which means there must be a tunnel…" He turned around, facing the far wall, "…right underneath this floor."

Stenvar nodded. "All we need to do is dig through the floor. Forget the portal."

Tashine groaned, "We left the pickaxes back in the dining hall."

Roandil interrupted, "We can go back and get them. And more supplies. How long would it take to break through the floor, J'Kier?"

The Khajiit stroked his chin-fur, "Not long, not long. It depends if there is hard metal under the stone. But we can do it in a day."

Tashine was calculating mentally. It had taken them a whole day and a half to arrive at the entrance to Blackreach, but that wasn't considering the fact that they had not known which direction to take, and the pauses they'd taken to fight the machines. They would need a day to go back up. Another day to come back down. Another day to break through the floor. And perhaps more time to find the exit from Blackreach, and more time still to trek back to Winterhold. How fitting would it be to escape from the Dwarven ruin only to die of frostbite once they did.

"We can make better time if we split up," said Stenvar. "No use carting around all our supplies anyway."

Tashine was still wary of splitting up, but time-wise, it might be best.

"You're faster in light armour," Stenvar continued, turning to Tashine. "Why don't you take J'Kier and Roandil back to the base camp, and Brelyna and I will set up here."

J'Kier looked pained, "Khajiit does not wish to go back. The memories are too painful."

Stenvar nodded.

Brelyna spoke, "I'll go with Tashine and Roandil. You boys can set up here."

Tashine reluctantly agreed. "Okay. We'll leave now."

" _Now?_ " cried Roandil. "We've been walking all day. We'd be traveling back through the entire ruin!"

"I want to make good time. We'll rest when we return to the dining room," she ordered. "No, leave the bedrolls Brelyna, there are plenty back at camp."

Brelyna nodded. Roandil stretched weary legs. Neither argued. The military tone in Tashine's voice simply brooked no argument.

The three of them carried a lone satchel-full of food and water as they retraced their steps. They crossed the vast expanse of the canyon, climbed back up the spiral ramp, traversed the endless halls of the workshop at a good pace, and returned to the round room, where K'Jor's body still lay to the side.

Tashine pressed on, arriving at the gate, only to discover it had locked again.

"Damn it," she cursed.

Roandil sighed, "We need J'Kier's lockpicking skills."

Tashine was frustrated with herself for not thinking of that. The gate had slammed shut when they first entered the room. None of them had checked to see if it had re-locked also. "Guess we should head back,"

"At least we'll get some rest," said Brelyna with relief.

Tashine furrowed her brow. "I still say we press on to the base camp tonight."

Roandil pleaded, "We're exhausted. Climbing up is much harder than climbing down. I'm not sure I can make another two-way trip in one night."

"Then stay here." Tashine didn't mean to sound snappy, but she was exhausted too, and determined to fix her mistake. "I'm not leaving Stenvar and J'Kier alone down there any longer than necessary. Stay here, I'll go back for lockpicks and return."

Brelyna and Roandil exchanged a glance. "I suppose it would help to have a breather," said Roandil.

Tashine unsaddled her bag, and found a torch, which she shoved into Brelyna's hand. "Here. Use this to light the room. Use your Detect Life spell if you hear anything, and don't let anyone in through those doors unless you know for certain it's me or Stenvar or J'Kier."

"it's okay," assured Brelyna, "We'll be safe."

Tashine took a deep breath and nodded. She turned, picking up her own lit torch, and left the round room, closing the doors behind her.

She navigated her way through the workshop. Roandil had the best sense of direction, what with his cartography prowess, and Tashine thought she might get lost, but she successfully guessed her way back to the tower overlooking the cathedral.

As she reached it, she heard a distant high-pitched sound, behind her. She stopped in her tracks, spun around, and raced back through the workshop. As she ran, the sound got louder, and more frantic. It became a distorted echo that rang of fear: the sound of Brelyna screaming.


	7. DAY 6

DAY 6

Tashine reached the round room with her mace drawn. Brelyna was heaving loudly at the side of the room, tears streaming down her cheeks. She made a sign with her hand, cast Detect Dead and pointed with her other hand at the collapsed form of Roandil.

Tashine rushed to his side, "What happened?"

Brelyna choked out, "He's dead! He just… we just went to drink form the waterskin and then he just went like that and fell."

Tashine looked closer and noticed Roandil's body was a strange colour. His skin was blackened, as if charred in a brazier, and a trickle of unnaturally dark blood was leaving his nose. Tashine was shocked. Back in her army days, they had occasionally resorted to poisoning their weapons, but never had she seen a poison with this effect. She rolled Roandil's body onto his back and stood up.

"Where's the waterskin?"

Brelyna pointed again, and Tashine grabbed the object next to the body. Tipping the container, Tashine let a dribble of water land in her palm. She raised it to her nose. It smelled normal.

"Follow me, Brelyna," said Tashine, and the dark elf nodded, unsteadily getting to her feet.

They left together, crossing the length of the workshop and returning to the stone landing in front of the cathedral, where Stenvar and J'Kier were settling in for a night's rest.

"Roandil's dead," announced Tashine as they approached. Stenvar hauled himself up on one elbow.

"How?" he asked, gravely.

Tashine didn't answer. Brelyna replied, "Someone poisoned our water."

Stenvar raised an eyebrow. "I've been drinking the water and I'm fine."

"When did we fill the waterskin?" asked Tashine.

Stenvar answered, "I filled them. With water from the pools over there." He gestured towards the vast expanse of the cavern. "The argonian must have slipped down here and tampered or…" Stenvar frowned and shook his head.

"The gate was locked," squeaked Brelyna, "He couldn't have."

"What gate?"

"In the round room."

Tashine spoke up, "I was heading back here to get lockpicks when I heard Brelyna's cry."

Stenvar blinked. "Wait a minute. Brelyna was alone with him when he died?"

A panicked look transformed the dark elf's features, "Surely you don't think I had anything to do with this? Everyone had access to the supplies." She started crying again, "I just want to get out of here. I didn't want any of this to happen. Please believe me."

J'Kier, who had been silently watching from a crosslegged position on his bedroll until now, spoke softly, "I believe you. The girl is innocent."

Brelyna looked both relieved and horrified. "It must be one of you. It has to be. It never was the argonian. He's probably dead. He couldn't have shot Arniel like that. He's no archer."

Her pupils were wide with renewed fear, and she backed away slowly.

Part of Tashine wanted to denounce her, but there was still a realization, deep down, that Brelyna was right. Perhaps she had always suspected, but ignored the hard truth in favour of an easier thought. Deep-in-his-Cups was a skooma addict. It was easy to blame murders on a crazed addict. It was harder to look at her relatively sane companions and accept that one of them was a cold-blooded murderer.

There were four of them left in the room. J'Kier, Stenvar, Brelyna, and her. She considered each of them in turn.

Stenvar she practically dismissed out-of-hand. He had worked with her on numerous occasions, and he'd been an amiable companion. He certainly was capable of killing, as was she, but not in cold blood, surely.

Brelyna did seem legitimately flighty. Tashine could recognize fear when she saw it, and the way the body reacted. Pupils dilate, nerves get jumpy. If Brelyna was faking her fear, she was an excellent actress indeed. Then, a stray conversation she had had with Brelyna resurfaced in her mind. She experimented with magic. She had turned someone into a cow. Did she see them all as test subjects in a grand experiment?

No, Tashine thought again. She wasn't an archer either. Magic was her weapon, not a bow. Unless… Tashine realized they had no real proof Arniel died by being shot. They had found the bow, and the arrow in Arniel Gane's chest, and jumped to conclusions. But what if Arniel had died by magical means, then had an arrow stuck in his chest for appearances so nobody would suspect a mage?

Nevertheless, there remained the question of motive. Why would Brelyna be driven to kill? The girl would be unable to escape the ruin alone, unless she possessed some magical means of teleporting herself away. Would such a plan require human sacrifice?

J'Kier, Tashine decided, was also a definite possibility. He had been so mournful when his twin died, but his twin had died accidentally, not by the killer's hand. Had they been acting together? Nobody had died during the night J'Kier mourned for his brother, after all. He and his brother had reportedly done time in Cidhna mine, so he was a criminal of some kind- possibly a prolific killer. He was also a skilled archer, by his own admission. Tashine considered that counter-indicative of culpability. Would a killer who had shot one of his victims by arrow immediately boast of his prowess in archery? Then again, perhaps a killer would bank on exactly that line of thinking.

Again, the motive was a tricky thing to pin down. The khajiit were hard workers who were eager to dig out. Possibly, they sought to improve their odds by culling the members of the expedition who were less effective. That might justify Eoric's death, who was just a cook, Arniel, who was a workshy mage, and Roandil, who was little more than a secretary. But Kjeld and Cato? They were strong men. One was an experienced miner, no less. Tashine considered that perhaps Kjeld had indeed died of natural causes. Cato had died alongside Arniel, so perhaps J'Kier had been targeting Arniel all along, and was forced to kill Cato too or risk being caught.

Tashine frowned. That was a lot of variables. Another idea struck her, but again it relied on supernatural motives. J'Kier was a worshipper of Hircine, so perhaps this was an elaborate hunt to receive the daedra's favour.

It didn't matter. If they kept suffering casualties, no one, not even the killer, was ever going to see sunlight again.

* * *

Brelyna made a conscious effort to even out her breathing and calm her nerves. It had been Roandil who had first understood the truth, and brought her into his confidence. Now it was revealed to the others; one of them was a murderer. She looked from Tashine to Stenvar to J'Kier. If she had to guess, she suspected Tashine or Stenvar. They were both mercenaries, with a long career of killing, and they were old. People in the warrior business didn't get old unless they were extremely good and what they did, were cowardly, or chose their opponents carefully. She wondered, if it came to it, if she could kill either of them before they killed her. She might cast an atronach to fight for her and set them on fire with a Flame. Perhaps it would be safer to kill them all preemptively – but then she wouldn't be able to escape the ruin on her own. She needed them.

The adrenaline was ebbing, and exhaustion was grabbing at her. They still hadn't rested since the night before. She decided to break the silence that had settled while the four of them eyed each other critically. "We need to get some rest tonight."

Stenvar nodded. "Aye. But will we all wake from that sleep?"

"Two of us need to be awake at all times," said Tashine. "We'll rest in turns."

Stenvar groaned. "Ok, you girls get some sleep. J'Kier and I will take guard duty."

Brelyna gratefully retrieved her bedroll, and edged it away from the others. Settled in, she tried to rest, but, to her frustration, sleep wasn't forthright in coming. She lay groggily with her eyes half open, listening to Stenvar and J'Kier talking in hushed tones.

"This one thinks it is unfair that you are keeping your weapon."

"What do you mean? You have a bow and arrow."

"You have a greatsword, Tashine has her mace, the Dark Elf has her magic. Khajiit has a bow, this is true, but a bow is a poor choice in close quarters."

"I'm not giving up my sword, so don't ask."

"Hm. This one thinks that is suspicious."

"Well nobody has died from a sword wound anyway, have they? The sword's my weapon. I wouldn't go poisoning people or conking them on the head with a rock."

"This is an astute point."

"In fact, I'd expect poison from a khajiit."

"Wha? J'Kier protests!"

"Or… the mage?"

"The mage? She would use magic to kill no?"

"If she had, it would be too obvious."

"Ahh yes, khajiit sees. But she is so young."

"Don't be fooled. The innocent types end up being the most insane, in my experience. They mask it well."

"This one sympathizes."

"…"

"Should we kill her?"

"I don't know. There's no real proof."

"This is true. But… this is not a Jarl's court."

"Suppose she's not much use on the dig."

"Precisely."

"And we could eat her."

"Yes. Her body is thin and stringy, but it would feed us for at least a few days."

"No need to worry about supplies running dry."

"Yes. Let's do it."

"Now, while she sleeps."

Steps approached. Brelyna's eyes flung wide open.

There was no one behind her. Stenvar was sitting, slouched against the wall of the cathedral, and snoring softly. J'Kier was collapsed on top of his bedroll, asleep.

Brelyna rubbed her eyes. How much of that conversation was reality and how much was a dream? She couldn't tell. She glanced at Tashine, who was out cold in her own bedroll. Should she wake her? Two of them needed to be awake at all times.

She took another look at the men. Both had fallen asleep anyway. Could she keep herself awake any more than they could? The aches in her arms and the fogginess in her mind was telling her no. Perhaps it would be better to let everyone rest, and hope the first person to wake from their sleep was not the killer. She swallowed nervously, crawled deeper into her bedroll, and prayed to Azura for luck.

* * *

The Alik'r warriors had arrived on the first of the month, and linked with the main legion force in Northern Hammerfell. The Thalmor were crossing the Alik'r desert, and a climactic battle would be upon them soon.

Tashine was initially supposed to be fighting with the bulk of the troops, but instead, she had been tasked with scouting the enemy's approach. Pashar had been assigned to the scouting party as well, although he seemed an uninspired choice; he was tall and bulky, and ill-equipped in light armour. He was liable to give them away, thought Tashine.

Leaving camp on the fringes of the desert, the scouting party tracked through the desert sands under the cover of night. The stars also provided a convenient compass once they had left the sight of the camp. Amid the dunes, it was sand in all directions, and they were covering their tracks as they made them.

Cresting a dune, the party halted, spying an oasis in the distance. The inhabitants of the village had long since abandoned the place, and scouts didn't think the Thalmor would have gotten so close, but a lonely trail of smoke rose from a small cooking fire. From such a far distance, the fire looked like nothing more than a small flicker of orange candlelight.

"Rival scouting party," announced the scout captain.

The main force mustn't be too far behind, then. Tashine remembered her own crossing, along the caravan routes. It was a long journey even under perfect conditions with a ready supply chain. If one didn't get caught in the simooms, the crossing would take a fortnight.

"We need a count on them. Tashine, give us a report."

Tashine nodded, and struck out from the top of the dune, sliding down the opposite side into a gully for cover. Since Thalmor were mages, they could use Detect Life spells to see the enemy approach. The spell always had a certain range, so the trick was to get close enough to count the enemy, but not close enough to be spotted with a Detection spell. She wriggled forwards on her stomach and peaked out from behind a rocky outcrop.

A storm atronach, all dark clouds and crackling electricity, furrowed a path in the sand in a perfect circle around the oasis. "At least one summoner," she noted. The distant fire was briefy interrupted by a tall silhouette. Beyond the fire, two more elves sat in golden armour. She stayed put, peering towards the mudbrick houses of the abandoned village. None of them appeared to be inhabited. Neither were there any other fires in sight or figures walking around the camp in the moonlight. It seemed like there were just three of them. Their own scouting party counted five legionnaires. Tashine smiled evilly, and shifted her way back into the gully and up the side of the sand dune.

"Three," she mouthed to the captain. "One atronach."

The captain raised his eyebrows in surprise, but nodded.

They soon formed a plan of action. Tashine was given a scroll of banish daedra. They'd take the atronach out first, hopefully without alerting anyone. Pashar had grabbed his imperial bow, and covered his arrow with a magicka poison. He was to take out the wizard first, to prevent him from just re-summoning the daeda. The captain and the other two scouts readied their swords and shields.

The five of them dashed over the dune and hid in the gully like Tashine had done earlier. They neared the outcrop, and spit. Pashar and the captain went left, the other two went right. Tashine prepared herself, watching the atronach, on the far side of the oasis, slowly motor its way around. She held the scroll tightly, feeling the parchment disintegrate in her fingers, morphing into a ball of swirling magical energies that made her fingers tingle and go a bit numb.

The atronach was coming closer. Closer still. She rose from the outcrop, got into position… She had to aim carefully and…

She loosed the energies from her hand with as much force as she could muster. Her foot rotated, crunched on loose gravel. The atronach heard, and abruptly stopped. The scroll spell hurled past the atronach and landed harmlessly in a palm tree.

The atronach swiveled and saw her. It reared, brought its hands together. KABOOM! A bolt of lightning arced directly into Tashine's breastplate. She was flung backwards, landing heavily in the sand.

The thunder was deafening. Her ears rang. Every muscle twitched painfully. She thought her heart would give out.

There was shouting beyond. The thunder had alerted the Thalmor and they were now readying their weapons for battle. She had failed her team. She spat into the sand and uttered a string of curses that would make a pirate blush.

Another thunderclap sounded as she charged to the top of the outcrop with her sword drawn.

Below, the imperial captain was chasing the rapidly retreating atronach. The elves beyond had summoned magical weapons and were engaged with the two other scouts. Pashar was nowhere to be seen. The wizard was dancing about, shouting in a haughty inflected voice and sending showers of Sparks on her comrades.

She raced down the hillside into the thick of the action, knocking into one of the soldiers with her shield and sending him tumbling into the ground. The other legionnaire followed through with the death blow, and she moved on.

The second soldier was a better swordsman. He was whirling this way and that with his magesword, and dousing his legionnaire opponent with flames. He landed a heavy blow on the thigh and the legionnaire went down.

Tashine slashed with her sword, only to have it blocked by the elf's. She gritted her teeth as a judicious burst of flame played over her armour.

"Hahaha, you can't hope to defeat me," taunted the Thalmor.

Tashine parried and feinted, but the Thalmor anticipated her moves. He landed a blow on the side of her knee, and she went down. The elf raised his sword, sent it down to impale her. She found her shield just in time, blocking the blow. She rotated her body and lashed out with her foot, sweeping into the elf's legs and sending him too falling to the ground.

Both of them sprawled for a moment as she retrieved her sword. Her leg was bleeding, and it was hard to put weight on it.

Lightning struck her again. This time it was the mage, cackling from a distance. She ducked behind the Thalmor solider as he got to his feet. The soldier went back at it, landing sword-blows on her shield and armour. She spotted her opportunity. There was a crease between his helmet and armour, that opened whenever he lunged to the side. She kept her eyes focused on that crease while she feinted and blocked. Then she sprung into the air, jabbed once, and then swung her sword with all her force into the target.

The sword sliced into the elf's neck, cutting off his jeer mid-sentence. His eyes rolled back into his head and he crumpled into a heap at her feet.

Tashine took a moment to breathe, but an instant later, another jab of electricity stabbed her in the chest.

"Hahahaha! You pathetic human!" scremed the wizard.

Her muscles spasmed. She couldn't move. She fell backwards.

With a crackling and a renching sound, a portal opened in front of her, beckoning a new storm atronach into the world. He loomed over Tashine. The hairs on her body stood on end. The electricity hummed in the air and singed her eyebrows.

The atronach reared for its familiar attack. It brought its hands down.

Tashine squeezed her eyes shut.

A fizzling, then silence. No thunderclap came.

Tashine opened one eye, then the other.

Pashar walked towards her, bow in hand.

"You alright?"

"Yea. What happened?"

"It's over. I killed the mage."

Tashine was helped to her feet, and she surveyed the damage around her. One of their fellows had a nasty gash in his thigh from where he'd been struck. The other legionnaire was tending to him, uncorking a healing potion.

"We lost the captain," said Pashar.

Tashine swore. It was her fault for not dealing with the atronach and blowing their cover. It was her mistake.

"Alright, come on," she ordered, "we didn't come here to ambush a raiding party, we came to scout the main force. We push on."

Pashar looked at her sadly, "You're injured. We should go back."

Tashine looked down, and suddenly remembered the wound on her knee. As she noticed it, she started to register the pain. She shook her head anyway.

"Give me a healing potion, then. We move on."

Pashar unhooked the pouch at his belt and removed a small red vial. Tashine took it.

"You are crazy, you know that?"

Tashine drank the potion and took a deep breath. She suddenly felt very tired.

"That wasn't a healing potion."

"Nope," confessed Pashar. "I'll go ahead and scout the enemy. The rest of you need to heal up back at camp and bring the captain's body for burial."

Tashine started to protest, but her mind was fading fast. One of the other legionnaires, presumably the uninjured one, caught her to preserve her balance. The last memory she had of that night was of Pashar walking out into the desert…

* * *

Tashine woke naturally to the sounds of gears turning in the distance and water drops echoing in the vast cavern. She looked up, annoyed. Why didn't Stenvar wake her for guard duty?

J'Kier was already awake. He was playing with his tail absentmindedly, and hurriedly stopped when he heard Tashine stirring.

"What happened?"

J'Kier's wiggled his whiskers, "This one guarded the others, but fell asleep. Also Stenvar."

Tashine looked to Stenvar, who was slumped against the wall of the cathedral.

"Is everyone alive?"

"Yes of course!" nodded J'Kier.

Tashine got up, and woke both Brelyna and Stenvar. They had work to do today.

Brelyna made to unpack supplies for breakfast, but Tashine stopped her.

"We can't trust our supplies anymore. They could have been tampered."

Brelyna replied coolly, "So says you. We can't starve."

"Actually we can," said Tashine. "People can survive weeks without food. As for water, from now on, we only drink from the pools down here."

Stenvar interjected, "That's no good. We need to eat. We just all have to eat the same thing, and watch it being prepared."

They argued for a minute, but eventually decided that sharing a loaf of bread was safe.

J'Kier spoke, between mouthfuls, "Khajiit still needs a pickaxe."

Stenvar nodded. "We should stay in pairs. Two of us get the pickaxes and two of us stay here."

Brelyna countered, "That would leave one of us alone with the murderer."

"Well, we could all go," suggested Stenvar, "but then we'd have no energy to dig when we return."

Tashine spoke, "I'll go."

The others looked to her. "Alone?" asked Stenvar, surprised.

Tashine shrugged. "I'm in no danger if I'm alone, and the three of you can watch each other's backs."

J'Kier spoke, "Can you pick the lock on the gate?"

"I'm reasonably confident."

J'Kier fished in his pack and handed her a set of lockpicks. She fitted them in a pocket on her cuirass, secured her mace to her belt, and said farewell to the others. She set off down the winding path through the cavern, grateful to be alone.

* * *

J'Kier sat on his haunches and started building a fire. Stenvar paced back and forth across the landing and Brelyna waited nearby, ready to set fire to the wood when J'Kier was finished.

"Who do you think it is?" asked Brelyna.

J'Kier looked up. Stenvar stopped pacing and approached.

"Tashine," said J'Kier.

"Why do you think that?" asked Stenvar.

"This one thinks she is not so sad when someone dies. Not remorseful."

"She's had some personal tragedies," said Stenvar. "I think she's just used to it,"

J'Kier twitched his tail. "Who do _you_ think it is, then?"

"Brelyna."

"Hey!" Brelyna said indignantly.

"What? As long as we're being honest. It's not like I'm a detective."

Brelyna retorted, "Well, so be it. I happen to think it's you, Stenvar."

"Wouldn't blame you. I'm a mercenary after all."

J'Kier moaned, "Why is anyone killing anyone? Does the killer not want to live? Khajiit cannot dig out all by himself."

"I don't kill unless there's money in it," said Stenvar.

"So we're supposed to believe you're a paragon of altruism?" mocked Brelyna.

A thought occurred to J'Kier. "Perhaps you were paid to stop us from discovering Blackreach."

"Then I'd just hack you all with my sword, not poison people individually."

Brelyna spoke. "What if someone is Dark Brotherhood? What if this is an elaborate worship of death?"

J'Kier considered this doubtful.

Brelyna continued, eyes narrowed suspiciously, "Where exactly did you learn your fighting skills, Stenvar?"

"I've been a mercenary for thirty years! You tend to pick up a few tricks after such a long time. Incidentally, who's to say that you're not secretly Morag Tong?"

Brelyna scoffed, "What motive could _I_ possibly have? I don't want to die down here!"

"Maybe not. But you're from the college. You wanted to interfere with Calcelmo's operation, so you tried to kill his hirelings."

"What? I lost Arniel, don't you remember?"

Stenvar's eyes flashed. "I think Cato killed Arniel in self-defense, before you finished Cato."

* * *

Tashine continued on through the workshops. She had a torch in one hand to light her way, and the other rested on the pommel of her mace.

Her mind was still on the past. Images from the war flashed before her eyes, images of lightning and fire and clashing steel.

When she entered the round room, she had to bring her focus back to reality. She reached the gate, examined the lock, and retrieved the lockpicks.

Carefully, she slipped the metal objects into the hole, and experimentally pried around, hearing the tumblers moving under her direction. With a snap, the pick broke. She frustratedly removed the pieces of lockpick and reached for another.

She stopped.

The hairs on the nape of her neck began to rise. She felt the curious sensation of feeling watched. She turned, peering into the darkened hallway from where she had entered.

She unfastened her mace and listened. Absolutely nothing stirred. She stood, moving towards the opposite set of doors. Her torch illuminated the empty room, the doorway, and the fringe of the corridor beyond. Then what was –

Tashine looked around her. There was nothing out of place, was there? She shut the doors on the hallway. Fortunately, these didn't lock when they were closed again, as the gate had.

She returned to her lockpicks and set to work again. She heard a click as the tumblers fell into the right place, and with a cry of triumph, she turned the lock and swung open the gate.

She stored the picks, took up her torch again, and made to move through the gate into the long staircase beyond.

Then, realization came: the room was empty.

There were the strewn-about remnants of the six dwemer machines that had ambushed them. There was a discarded journal peeking out from under a metal arm. But there were no bodies, when there should have been two.

Roandil and K'Jor's bodies had vanished.


	8. DAY 6 and a half

DAY 6 continued

"They're all gone."

The Argonian rocked gently back and forth against the wall, clutching a glowing mushroom. He felt both cold and hot. His mouth was parched. His ears picked up the slightest of movements in the dark that he wasn't sure were real.

The voices had abated somewhat, which Deep-in-his-Cups was thankful for. Although, he did miss the company.

Now he was alone in the glow of a subterranean mushroom. The crates and chests and barrels and bedding were still there. The hallway was still collapsed. The food was starting to spoil, attracting a faint odour of rot amidst the tinny metallic taste of the Dwarven air.

Suddenly, a light off in the distance.

Flickering.

Fire.

Coming nearer.

 _CLICK CLICK CLICK CLICK_

"No shut up shut up!" moaned Deep-in-his-Cups.

His breathing starting getting scarily fast. His heartbeat was out of control.

Out of the hallway, a torch. A body. Female. Dark-skinned.

Tashine started in surprise, "Deep-in-your-Cups? You're alive?"

The Argonian's pupils were nearly as wide as his sockets. They took in so much light, it blurred and distorted the image. He knew from the voice who it was. Tashine.

"She stole your skooma," whispered the voice in his ears.

"Shut UP!"

The Redguard's facial expression seemed faintly concerned. She was resting her hand on the pommel of her mace. The Argonian dug his nails into the mushroom nervously.

"I'm here for pickaxes," said Tashine.

The Argonian couldn't figure out what the voice was. Flat? Melancholy? Fearful? Malicious? The face distorted into all these emotions as he thought of them.

The Argonian experimentally moved a leg muscle, trying to focus on getting to his feet. One leg, two… success. He told himself to act normal, giving his brain short, easy commands. Move the legs forward. Drop the mushroom. No sudden movements of the head. No jerky movements. Don't lose balance. Stay upright.

He wanted to speak, but his mouth was so dry. He settled for just nodding.

"Help me, will you?" asked the Redguard.

The Argonian didn't understand. Help with what? But then a pickaxe was being shoved in his arms.

"Follow me."

He tried his best to obey, trying very hard to walk in a straight line and not look suspicious.

They reached the yawning entrance to the corridors.

 _Click click cli-_

"It's in my head," thought the Argonian. "It's not real."

* * *

Brelyna was waiting on the stone landing, her face a picture of boredom. She saw the flickering of light in the distance, deep into the cavern, and cast Detect Life.

"She's coming back," she announced.

J'Kier looked up from fiddling with the strings of his tunic and Stenvar quit polishing his sword.

As the figure in the torchlight got nearer, she could make out the figure who was carrying it- and it wasn't Tashine.

"It's the Argonian," she said.

The three exchanged a glance. Brelyna's mind tried to recalculate, given this new information. Could the Argonian have been behind the murders after all? Her memory of her conversation with Roandil came back to her. He had said it was impossible. It couldn't be the Argonian, because he wasn't an archer…

Deep-in-his-Cups approached them warily, swaying lightly on his feet. His eyes were nearly all pupil. A strange green sheen shone from their depths when the light hit them the right way.

"Hello?" he greeted.

Stenvar replied with an even, but cautious voice, "We thought you were dead."

"I thought you all were," admitted the Argonian.

"Roandil, K'Jor, Cato, and Arniel. They've all died since we've seen you last."

"Ah," said the Argonian, head shifting nervously. "I brought pickaxes," he added, dropping the tools he'd wedged between his arm and scaly torso.

J'Kier perked up, "This is good. But where is Tashine?"

"She told me to go on ahead."

Stenvar raised an eyebrow. "Why?"

The Argonian opened and closed his mouth without a sound. He seemed, to Brelyna, to be racking his brains, trying to remember something.

"Oh. She said something about finding something."

Stenvar approached the Argonian. He was a tall Nord, and towered over the argonian. "What _exactly_ did she say?"

"I don't know, I don't know. I don't remember!" hissed Deep-in-his-Cups. "Wait! She said something was missing. She had to find it."

Stenvar looked back at Brelyna, and at J'Kier. "I don't like this. I'm going to go find her."

Brelyna took one look at the manic Argonian and shook her head violently. "No. You should stay. In case…" she made a head movement to try and subtly reference the Argonian. He was still under the effects of skooma withdrawal, clearly. Should things go awry, they'd need a mercenary's skills on hand.

"Do you want to go out there? Alone?" asked Stenvar.

Brelyna didn't. But she also didn't want to stay. She could trust her magicka, though; with her Detection spells, nobody could sneak up on her. And also, she woudn't truly be alone…

"I'll find Tashine. You should get started on digging through the floor."

"Yeah. We'll get started," nodded Stenvar. He turned to the Khajiit. "Lower the door again, J'Kier,"

J'Kier flipped the lever, and the platform fell down again with a crash. The centurions, guarding the portal to Blackreach, didn't stir.

J'Kier took one of the pickaxes and headed in to get started. Stenvar took the other to dig a proper latrine to the side of the stone landing, keeping an eye on Deep-in-his-Cups, who collapsed onto a bedroll with exhaustion.

As the others busied themselves with their new tasks, Brelyna set off back into the cavern towards the tower that would lead to the factory.

Soon, the torchlights at camp became distant, and the primary source of light was the bioluminescence surrounding her.

"This would be so beautiful under different circumstances," thought Brelyna.

She tripped on a protruding stone in the pathway and cursed. She cast a Candlelight spell to hover over her head and carried on.

She was midway, now. The tower was still a fair distance away. Truly, the cavern was immense. She stopped at one of the natural pools and took a drink of water, then washed out her waterskin and filled it again as well.

As she headed back to the trail, she heard a noise. It came from the direction of the camp, but the camp was too far away. It sounded, Brelyna thought, like someone tripping on an upturned stone in the dark.

Was someone following her? The panic was rising in her chest again. She stood absolutely still, trying to hear something else. Silence greeted her.

She cast Detect Life and saw nothing. Perhaps the spot on the trail with the stone was too far away. She felt fearful regardless. The Candlelight above her head now unnerved her. It gave away her position. Anyone in the gloom of the cavern could spot her with ease. She spoke the spell of Premature Cancellation, and the light went out.

But now the darkness was clinging, whereas before her eyes had adjusted to the soft teal glow of mushrooms. It would only take a minute to readjust…

She cast Detect Life again, and this time saw the aura of a figure approaching along the path.

Brelyna then realized who it might be.

"Is that you?" she called out.

There was no answer, but perhaps the other hadn't heard her.

She formed a pair of lightning bolts in the palm of her hand and let them charge. The effort made her light-headed, draining a large portion of her magicka reserve. There was a pregnant pause as the figure continued to approach. The lightning was a good tactic. If it didn't kill the enemy, it would still make a thunderous echoing noise, alerting the others to the danger.

In the dark, the figure came closer. Now she could hear the shuffle of feet. A face loomed out of the darkness.

"Oh, it's you." Brelyna relaxed her arms, letting the lightning die back.

Then the other lunged.

Brelyna was knocked to the ground, winded. Her brain panicked. She flailed about with wild abandon, thrashing and lashing out. She took the deepest breath she could to scream-

She managed a squeak before her windpipe was abruptly cut off. Powerful hands clamped down on her neck. She thrashed against the attacker, but she couldn't breathe. Stars dance at the corners of her vision. With a final effort, she let flames erupt from her hands. Her attacker hissed with pain, but didn't loosen grip.

Her magicka drained. Her mind was fogged. Her lungs burned. Her struggles gradually subsided, and then ceased altogether.

The attacker kept pressing, waiting for the body to finish jerking reflexively as the last of Brelyna's life drained out.

Finished, the figure stood, a lone shadow in the haze.

* * *

The Argonian opened his eyes.

How long had it been since he'd slept? He really couldn't tell. Days? Hours? The voice, at least, was at bay.

He looked around him, trying to get his bearings. Then, a shout-

"BRELYNA?"

It was Stenvar. His voice echoed around the cavern. There was no response from the darkness. Tashine was next to him speaking in quick and hushed tones. Looking behind him, Deep-in-his-Cups realized J'Kier was standing over him, having recently shaken him awake.

"This one is sorry," said the apologetic Khajiit.

"How long was I asleep?"

"Several hours, friend," answered J'Kier, "The mage girl is missing. Tashine returned without her."

Deep-in-his-Cups nodded, getting tenderly to his feet.

"It has been decided that all of us should search for her."

"What about the dig?"

"It is progressing. This one has worked very hard, and the stone is not so difficult."

The mercenaries turned to them, then. Tashine spoke, "Alright, let's go."

The four of them set out into the cavern, along the path. They each carried a torch to light as much of a path as possible. Tashine was sharing tracking tips as they went. Wet marks on the stone, or footprints could be clues, for instance, and no one knew how far Brelyna had gotten in her search for Tashine.

"I'm surprised I didn't run into her on my way back," Tashine mused aloud.

"You were just checking the workshop?" asked Stenvar.

"Yes. I discovered another level to it. A path we hadn't tried out before. It's a bloody maze down there. Full of spider-workers too…"

"Hmm"

Tashine continued, "She must have passed me while I was away from the main corridor. Or else she got lost in the worksh– oh."

They were just over halfway between the cathedral and the tower. In the torchlight, a waterskin was lying discarded by one of the natural pools. It would have been easy to miss if they hadn't been looking specifically for clues.

The ground nearby was clearly trampled. Disturbed dirt and vegetation made a small impromptu path.

Brelyna Maryon's body had been dragged here, and now lay face up with glassed-over eyes. Nasty black bruises on her grey skin of her neck, and a sickening dent in the cartilage of her larynx made short guesswork of how she died.

The Argonian's gaze, however, was transfixed on the small objects lying at her feet.

Skooma bottles. They were all there. Everything he had stashed away in the supply crates.

The voice chuckled darkly in his mind, "She deserved it."

"No."

He reached out worriedly, snatched a bottle of the sweet liquid. He hastily fumbled with the cork, reached back to drain the sweet liquid into his parched, waiting mouth.

Empty.

"Oh no no no no."

The others looked at him then. Had he said that out loud? They eyed his expression, the flaring of his nostrils, the bottle still in his hands. They appeared to notice, for the first time, the bottles at Brelyna's feet.

"Run."

He obeyed the voice, and sprinted away, down the main path that led to the tower.

What was happening? Did he kill her? The voice cackled, " _I_ killed her."

"NO." screamed Deep-in-his-Cups. It was just a voice. It was in his head and it wasn't real. It couldn't do anything in reality. But he wasn't sure what reality was anymore. Sparkling lights danced in the void. Mushrooms. Eyes.

As he rushed past the fungi, they transformed into biting falmer, chasing him and growling.

"They know it was you," said the voice calmly.

"Please stop. Go away."

"They all believe it was you. You're an addict. You're worthless. You're nothing."

Deep-in-his-Cups reached the base of the curved ramp, heading up three stories to the top entrance of the tower.

He scrambled up it faster than he thought possible. He began wheezing halfway, forcing him to slow down. It momentarily gave him a lucid thought:

Who was the voice?

Sometimes it was one person. Sometimes it was several people from his past. At other times it was his own voice echoing sardonically in his mind. Yet, now it was different. Sadistic, yes, but familiar. The voice of one of the members of the expedition, the one who had enlightened him. The one who had made him kill.

"No. That's not right."

Deep-in-his-Cups looked down at his shaking hands. They weren't a killer's hands.

"Yes they are," boomed the voice. "She stole your skooma. It was right there. You strangled her in cold blood."

The Argonian cowed, as images of violence flooded his mind. He crawled to the top of the tower. To one side was the door to the workshop, the round room, the amphitheatre, the corridors, the dining hall, the collapsed hallway and the tantalizingly close exit. No, wait, that exit was blocked.

To the other side was, well, nothingness. A blank tableau of midnight with endless opportunities. Deep-in-his-Cups edged towards the precipice, and peered down.

It was so far. Nauseatingly so.

He stood.

"Do it," said the voice.

Falling was such a curious sensation. It filled him with such adrenaline as he hadn't felt since his first taste of moon sugar. The air whipped around him, such that he could imagine he was a hawk flying on the currents of air. Pinpricks of bioluminescence spun above and below like starlight. It was perhaps the most beautiful thing he had ever seen.

The acceleration surprised him. He had never fallen such a great distance before, and he hadn't expected gravity to be so unforgiving. He wanted to clutch his stomach. It felt like his organs were being shifted around under his scales. Suddenly he felt scared. Regret filled him, as did the laughing voice.

A split-second later, the impact killed him.


	9. THE FINAL THREE

THE FINAL THREE

Stenvar, Tashine, and J'Kier headed back to camp, having discovered the Argonian's broken body at the base of the tower.

"I hate to say this, but it's probably for the best," said Stenvar.

No one replied. They reached the site of Brelyna's body. Stenvar knelt and retrieved one of the skooma bottles.

"Empty," he muttered.

"That is a very curious thing," purred J'Kier. "Perhaps it was Deep-in-his-Cups that dropped them here?"

Tashine spoke, "Well, Brelyna certainly didn't steal them. She didn't even know about the skooma until we told her."

"Right," noted Stenvar.

They abandoned the body and continued back to camp.

Entering the cathedral, they gathered around the chipped floor that J'Kier had started earlier.

Stenvar glanced at J'Kier, "How long, do you reckon, will it take to break through?"

"With the three of us, it will go quickly. We should be through by tomorrow."

Stenvar nodded, and the three of them divvied up the workload. Since there were three of them, and only two pickaxes, two of them worked on the dig and let the third rest.

Tashine and Stenvar volunteered to take the first shift, and J'Kier took his pause on his bedroll on the stone landing outside.

"What happened to your arms?" asked Stenvar, eyeing them as Tashine brought down the pickaxe with a mighty swing.

"Hmm?" Tashine glanced down, and noticed the skin of her arms was bleeding and raw. She furrowed her brow in confusion. How had that happened? Only now that she noticed the injury did she recognize the searing pain. A memory came to her, of times long ago, during the war…

"I've been wearing my cuirass too long," she concluded. "My skin's starting to chafe. I have half a mind to take a nice bath in one of the pools out there."

Stenvar chuckled, "I have half a mind to join you."

Tashine rolled her eyes. "If we do ever get out of here, have you given any thought to what we're going to do?"

Stenvar raised an eyebrow, "We? What did you have in mind?"

"Well, we are getting old, and– "

"Hey! We ain't old." He said the word 'old' with extreme disgust. "I'm as strong as I've ever been, and so are you."

"Oh I don't know about that."

Stenvar swung his axe and sunk the metal deep into stone. Maybe he had a point.

Stenvar looked at her, "Do you trust me?"

Tashine interrupted her swing and glanced about her. There were only three people left alive in this ruin, and one of them was still a murderer. "Not entirely," she replied, "but…no nevermind. I do trust you. I've known you for months now, and you're the first friend I made when I came to Skyrim."

"I trust you too, Tashine."

Stenvar stopped all pretense of trying to dig, and approached her. He took her gently by the shoulders, bringing her body in close, and placed a delicate kiss on her lips. A comfortable warmth spread through her body. She relaxed easily into the others arms, but she placed her hands on his chest and broke off.

"We dig out first. Nothing else matters until we're safe."

Stenvar nodded, and they retrieved their pickaxes.

Tashine found focusing on the swings incredibly difficult. Her mind was abuzz with wild thoughts of her and Stenvar, permeated with memories of Pashar, of the war, of the centurions' implacable faces watching them work…

"So, J'Kier?" asked Stenvar, finally breaking the silence.

Tashine's thoughts snapped back to the present. Yes, what about J'Kier?

"You think he did it?"

Tashine contemplated as she loosed another piece of the floor. "Did he have the opportunity to kill Brelyna?"

Stenvar responded, "He could have. He was working in here while I was outside making the latrines. He could have snuck past me and snuck back to camp when I wasn't looking."

Tashine made a face, "That's a risky move."

"Well he must have, right?"

"It's a possibility. If he's the killer, there's no way K'Jor wasn't in on it."

"But K'Jor died."

Tashine nodded, "By accident, though. He was taken by a Dwarven machine. Incidentally, K'Jor's body has disappeared. That's what I was looking for this morning."

Stenvar raised an eyebrow. "That is odd. Perhaps the spider-workers made the rounds and cleared away the bodies?"

"Oh, I didn't think of that. I thought maybe J'Kier had returned secretly in the night to bury his brother, and Roandil too."

Stenvar grunted, "The night we were trying to stay guarded? I'm sorry about that."

"Nobody died that night," Tashine reminded him.

"True."

"Which makes me wonder if we haven't overlooked another possibility. What if the Argonian did it after all, before committing suicide?"

Stenvar sunk another blow into the stone. "How?"

"Did he have opportunity to kill Brelyna?"

"I guess he too could have slipped past me while I was digging the latrines. He looked pretty sleepy, but he might have been faking it."

"The skooma bottles on Brelyna's body are telling, no?"

"Yeah, the real problem is he couldn't have killed Roandil."

Tashine paused. "Could he have poisoned the waterskin _before_ we left the dining hall?"

"No. He filled it with water from the pools, after we had gotten past the locked gates."

Tashine mulled, "Hmmm. Right. Then I guess he couldn't have killed Roandil."

"So it must be J'Kier."

"Not necessarily. The third possibility is that there were several murderers."

Stenvar stopped digging and adopted a thoughtful pose. "I hadn't considered that. One murderer seems bad enough."

Tashine's eyes glittered as she watched Stenvar carefully, "Suppose the Argonian killed everyone except Roandil, and Roandil was killed by someone else."

"Who?"

"Brelyna."

"Yea?"

"We suppose Roandil died from a poisoned waterskin, but we only have Brelyna's word for that. You didn't see his body. It was all blackened, almost like it was charred in mage-fire. Suppose Brelyna panicked? Suppose she thought Roandil was the murderer and doused him in magic? Then, realizing what people would think of her, she made up a story about poison."

"And then the Argonian killed her, and finally overcome with guilt, flung himself from the top of the tower?"

"Possibly."

Stenvar sighed, "I hope you're right. Because that means the three of us are safe."

Tashine paused from chipping away at the floor to rub her sore back.

Stenvar noticed. "Why don't you take your break. Go get some rest and tell J'Kier to get in here."

"Yeah, sure."

Tashine strode from the cathedral and found J'Kier curled up in his bedroll. She nudged him with the pickaxe.

"You're up."

The khajiit got regretfully to his feet and accepted the tool with a rueful smile. He left to join Stenvar, and Tashine happily found her bedroll. The aches and sores on her body were taking a toll. Despite Stenvar's protestations, she felt decidedly old…

Pashar returned to find her in the medic's tent.

"My stupid knee injury is going to take an age to heal," pouted Tashine.

"You're going to miss the battle."

"I know. How far away are the Thalmor?"

Pashar considered, "About a half-day. They have a large army. And siege-weapons."

Tashine folded her arms. She was lying in a cot, one of only a handful of people in the large medic tent. It was expected to get more crowded very soon. Tashine's knee was wrapped in heavy bandages, and her leg was propped up in the cot, to help prevent blood loss.

"Some of the tendons were severed. They need to be reconnected," explained Tashine, gesturing towards the injury.

Pashar smiled, "You're quite brave, you know. You took on two practiced Thalmor soldiers and a Mage."

"Yeah, I'm a regular hero of the Empire. That was one measly scouting force, Pashar, and we had the element of surprise. The real battle is going to be much more deadly."

"I know," Pashar answered. He patted Tashine on her good leg.

"I wish I could be there," muttered Tashine.

"I'm glad you won't be. Like you said, it's going to be a bloodbath… and… I wanted to tell you something now in case I don't get the opportunity to later."

Tashine was thankful her skin was dark, or else surely Pashar would have seen her blush. But she still looked up and furtively looked around. The priestesses were attending to a contagious individual on the other side of the tent.

"I think I love you."

"I can't," said Tashine, although she dearly wanted to. "We'd be court-marshalled."

Pashar half-smiled. "I know, sorry."

He turned to leave. He had reached the flap of the tent when Tashine called out, "Wait!"

Pashar turned around. She couldn't say anything out loud, or the priestesses would hear her, but she mouthed the words, "I love you too."

Pashar smiled and left with a wink.

The next day, the medic tent was crawling with commotion. Tashine was relegated to a smaller cot, sandwiched between a young unconscious recruit who had lost an arm, and another victim with serious burns. The smell of the place was overwhelming. It tasted of the iron of blood, cinged flesh, and fetid breath. Cries of agony and mewls of pain rent the air, and brown-robed priestesses did their best to look after everyone they could.

Tashine's heart stopped everytime the tent flapped opened and another wounded soldier came in. She supposed she ought not to be so jumpy. They weren't bringing in the dead, just the injured, so if Pashar was among them, at least he would be alive.

And yet, on occasion, the priestesses would arrive at a body, check it, and then drape a white cloth over his face. Then a pair of legionnaires would come by with a stretcher and remove the body, only to come back with a new occupant for the vacated spot.

Tashine was unused to this part of warfare, but even in her inexperience, she worried that the number of injured soldiers was uncommonly high. The amputee next to her didn't speak her language, and the burn victim's face was tortured to the point where he couldn't speak, so Tashine couldn't ask how the battle had turned out.

By the end of the day, Tashine had gone numb to the opening of the tent flap. She stirred when the priestesses came near. They inspected the burn victim and draped a cloth over his face. Tashine stared at the body next to her. He had died? She hadn't even noticed at what point the man's incoherent gurgling noises had stopped. A pair of legionnaires arrived with a stretcher and hauled the man on.

"Hey, Tasha."

Tashine looked up and recognized one of the men. It was her brother.

"What happened out there? Did we win?"

Her brother looked at her strangely, "What do you think? Take a look around you."

"Right. How many are dead?"

"Dunno. Probably twice as many were injured. Okay, gotta go sis,"

Her brother retreated, and Tashine was relieved to have space next to her. It didn't last long, as a bulky Imperial fellow was placed next to her. The newcomer, at least, seemed more talkative.

"What happened out there?" asked Tashine again.

"You don't know? Weren't you out there slogging with the rest of us?"

"No, I was injured before the battle."

"Just as well. So you see, the armies met in a valley between two dunes. Damn elves are strong. Every single one of their mages brought at atronach, and lightning was flying everywhere. So our battlemages took em out first, see? And the rest of us were raining arrows down on em, but they got these Wards, right? You can't touch the mages with an arrow when they've got their Wards up, so we had to distract em with a frontal attack. Of course they had a whole battalion of swordfighters to deal with us, so it was pretty brutal–"

Tashine interrupted, "How did it end?"

"Well the general ordered a retreat. Thalmor gave chase but our archers covered the retreat. I took an arrow in the gut myself. Pierced right though my armour, right? Can you imagine? One of them elven arrows, they got a stronger metal. I'm gonna have blood in my stool for weeks."

"How far away are they?"

"They probably settled up by that oasis. They're right on our heels. The fight will start up tomorrow, but we're gonna have to take the fight into the mountains. Get higher ground you know? We're sitting ducks out here."

Sure enough, several hours later, officials in clinking Imperial armour entered the tent to announce that the camp was moving. All those who were fit enough to walk were instructed to relocate. The Imperial man next to Tashine, and the amputee to the other side of her both stood and filed out with the others. Tashine, however, couldn't put weight on her leg. The inflammation had worsened overnight, and was decreasing now, but even still, she couldn't walk.

"What happens to the rest of us?" she cried out. A priestess was looking in her direction, and she smiled.

"The rest will be placed into carts for the journey."

Tashine lay back in relief. The medic tent was now considerably emptier. She counted them quickly in her head.

The tent flap opened again and Tashine jumped as Pashar came through.

He looked worse than before, with a stitched-up cut on his brow, and dirt and soot smearing his face. But otherwise, he looked healthy. Tashine was relieved.

He approached her with a look of frantic concern, and it featured in his voice as well.

"You have to get out of here, can you walk at all?"

Tashine sat up, about to give a cheeky greeting, but she stopped. "No, not at all. What happened?"

Pashar looked around, and leaned in to whisper, "The Thalmor are on the move. You've got to get out of here."

"They're putting us on carts," explained Tashine.

Pashar narrowed his eyes, "The carts already left. With the supplies. They're going to leave you here. You've got to get up."

Tashine wasn't fully comprehending what Pashar was saying. She leaned to the side to watch the priestesses chanting a quiet prayer in the centre of the tent. Was Pashar right? Were they being abandoned?

She swung her legs off the cot and had Pashar help her balance on her good leg. She experimentally tried putting weight on the bad one. At first it wasn't bad, but as she tried to move it, she realized she had no control over the muscles in her calf. Blinding pain shot up her limb and to her head, making her collapse into Pashar's body for support.

"I'm not even supposed to be here," hissed Pashar.

"I'm glad you're safe though."

Tashine leaned on Pashar and hobbled forwards. She could manage it, just barely.

"We need to get you a pair of crutches."

Outside the tent was a scene of chaos. The sun had set, and dusk was quickly darkening the world. Soldiers with torches were scurrying to and fro, packing up tents and bundling supplies in the fabric to take with them on their backs. Horses whinnied as men passed with torches. The blacksmith doused the forge, sending a plume of steam into the air. Others were dumping vials of poison into the well.

Looking behind her, Tashine saw a row of flame atronachs astride a distant ridge, sending firebolts whizzing at an enemy beyond.

"Give me those." Pashar grabbed a pair of tent-poles from a nearby soldier. Tashine took them, and tried to use them as makeshift crutches, with moderate success.

A firebolt smashed into a soldier a mere few paces from her. Tashine whipped her head around, to look behind her again.

As she watched, an atronach reeled, alight with purple lights. It steadied, swiveled, and sent another projectile into the Imperial camp.

"They're being turned," shouted Tashine. Pashar ushered her after the now-fleeing soldiers.

Tashine surprised herself with how fast she could move on crutches. She and Pashar crested the Northern hill, and took a last look back.

A trail of fleeing soldiers followed them up the path. Beyond, what remained of the camp was in flames. The medic tent, the last large structure, was nothing more than a burning frame and pieces of white fabric blowing in the gusting wind. Dark figures moved about the ruined camp: Thalmor soldiers.

In front of them, the path dipped into another shallow valley, rising eventually towards the distant mountains and the border region with Skyrim. Those who had the luxury of riding horseback were already cresting the other side of the valley. Pashar and Tashine were among the stragglers on foot.

Screams from behind her alerted her to a new danger. Turning around, she saw the dark figures silhouetted against the burning camp closing in on their position. Thalmor on horseback rode down the rear of the retreating line.

Tashine turned to Pashar. "Run!" she commanded.

Tashine desperately tried running on her crutches. Pashar kept pace with her, but she knew he could be moving faster if he wanted to be. Legionnaires with renewed fear were running down the far side of the hill into the valley, passing them by.

"Go! Forget about me. Go." Tashine insisted.

Pashar ignored her. Tashine stopped in her tracks.

"Are you crazy? What are you doing?" shouted Pashar.

"I can't outrun horses. Not on crutches. I'd have a better chance at hiding on the other side of the hill."

Pashar looked around. "Okay, let's hide."

Tashine shook her head, "You run. I hide."

Tashine didn't allow any further argument. She skidded her way painfully down the slope. There was a sage-brush growing amidst a clump of rocks. She tucked herself in behind the foliage. In the darkness, perhaps it would be good enough. Pashar didn't follow her, for which she was grateful. She tried to spy him among the soldiers fleeing along the bottom of the valley, but in the darkness it was impossible to tell.

Soon, she heard the thundering of hooves, and the cavalry appeared above her head. They careened down the side of the hill, passing by her location and riding down into the valley, flanking the remaining line of soldiers and firing arrows into their midst.

Tashine felt that if Pashar had run well, he could be among those few who were making their way up the hill on the far side. The horsemen didn't continue chasing. Perhaps they were being shot with arrows from archers atop the distant hill. Perhaps their horses had run too hard and were unable to make a serious effort uphill.

The horsemen circled the group below. Tashine watched on in concern. Were they all going to be executed? She realized now that she was stuck behind enemy lines. If not for her leg, she wouldn't be in this situation, but if not for her leg, she would have a better opportunity to scout the enemy. At least she wasn't–

"Surrender yourself human! Your life is forfeit!"

The haughty voice sounded close behind her. She turned her head gently, in case, by some miracle, the elf was talking to some other human and hadn't noticed her hiding spot yet.

Golden orbs pried into hers. The Thalmor's hand was making a bizarre gesture. Tashine realized he was casting the Detect Life spell. She subtly shifted away from the sage bush. She struggled to a sitting position, her bad leg stretched out in front of her.

"Well? Get it over with."

The elf looked at her, and appeared to notice the bandages on her leg. "A female? How curious." He snapped his fingers, and a warm yellow glow throbbed around the wound. Tashine moved her knee experimentally. It felt as good as new. She eyed the elf narrowly.

"Why did you do that?"

"Easier to transport." He spun on his heels, "You are henceforth a prisoner of the Aldmeri Dominion. Follow me, chattel, and obey, or I will devise for you an exquisitely painful death."

…

Tashine's thoughts focused back on the present. She was on her bedroll, thinly protecting her from the cold stone underneath. Her muscles ached from recent exertion. Her skin was sore in places. The whir of gears and the drip of water registered in her ears.

She imagined Stenvar and J'Kier working at the growing hole inside the cathedral. Had they broken through yet? How long would it be before they saw what was below. Hopefully, it was a way out.

The air had a stagnant denseness. There was little air circulating.

She opened her eyes. There was something uncomfortable, that was tugging at her instincts, although there was nothing tangible to blame. She looked around her.

Stenvar was squatting a short distance away, balancing his greatsword across his legs. He looked very tired, almost sad. Something was wrong.

She got up, and Stenvar noticed her. He watched her unsmilingly as she stood. Tashine rested her hand on the familiar pommel of her mace.

"What…" asked Tashine. She glanced towards the cathedral, through the open entryway.

Just beyond, a prone figure lay still on the ground. J'Kier. There was a pickaxe lodged in his chest.

Realization came flooding to Tashine. "It was _you!_ " she screamed.

Stenvar stood slowly, sword in hand. "Me? It was _you._ I never would have guessed."

Tashine drew her mace, and bent forward into a defensive stance, "Don't try to fool me now, Stenvar. There's just two of us left. It can only have been you."

"I can't believe I kissed you."

Stenvar swung the greatsword. Tashine was too far away for it to make contact, but she reckoned he meant it as an expression of frustration.

 _Stenvar._ Of course it was him, she thought. He was the only one who had the opportunity to kill Brelyna. He was the one 'digging latrines' while J'Kier dug the floor and the Argonian slept.

Earlier, he was the one who carried the supplies, who filled waterskins from the pools…

Before that, he was the one who first knew about the skooma. Of course he had to blow Deep-in-his-Cups' secret, to make it a public conflict.

The signs were there, Tashine realized. Staring right in front of her face. Who else could so easily overpower Eoric or J'Kier? Who else could take down both Arniel and Cato in one go? She had seen his hunting prowess when they were working together out of Windhelm. She knew what he could do.

The question remained… why? Why would Stenvar go to all this trouble to whittle away at their lives? Perhaps he was insane? Perhaps he was hired to do it?

Yet these explanations didn't make sense to Tashine. Stenvar liked two things: money and spending money. And seeing as spending money requires being alive, perhaps he needed to kill everyone individually, leaving enough people alive to dig him out of the ruin. J'Kier had now broken through. They had their escape route, and neither the Khajiit, nor her were required any longer.

But…

Tashine imagined herself undertaking such an operation. Surely it would be easier to wait until the escape was certain, and then kill everyone? And why, on the verge of escape, would he make romantic advances towards her? Perhaps insanity was a more likely culprit after all.

The two trained mercenaries circled each other, weapons drawn. Tashine eyed the greatsword warily. It was longer than her mace, giving him greater range. She was quicker, but without her shield, she felt vulnerable. It had been destroyed by the chaurus from the room beyond the amphitheatre.

She would have to dart in close and land a deciding blow. If she missed, Stenvar's armour was solid steel, and wouldn't give way to her weapon. If she missed, Stenvar was stronger, and could force her to the ground before piercing her with the greatsword.

Perhaps there was another way.

Tashine darted in, parrying a thrust from Stenvar, before jumping back. Stenvar moved the sword side to side, shifting heavily on his feet.

"You aren't going to find me such an easy target," boasted Stenvar.

"I know how you fight, remember?" taunted Tashine. She made another lunge forward, sidestepping Stenvar's swipe. The man was fond of charging, when he felt he had the advantage. Tashine just needed to line him up. She circled him on the stone landing, approaching the wall of the cathedral to cut Stenvar's right flank off. Stenvar backed up, getting a better position opposite her.

Tashine settled in front of the cathedral's entranceway, resting on the balls of her feet.

Predictably, Stenvar charged forwards, trying to force her back into the structure. Tashine blocked the first blow and then dropped to the ground, swiping out with her leg at Stenvar's shins and sending him sprawling over her.

She shot out from under him and dived towards the innocent looking lever in the centre of the stone landing.

The drawbridge raised, locking Stenvar inside the cathedral.

Stenvar uttered a loud series of curses as he found himself trapped.

"Well? What are you gonna do now?" cried Stenvar, "Starve me out? The exit is in here with me, you know."

"I know," said Tashine calmly, approaching the raised metal platform. On the sides, there was still a small space. Not enough to clamber through, but enough…

Now, thought Tashine, where was that- aha! She found in J'Kier's belongings the Dwarven bow he had taken with him from the storeroom. Nearby was the quiver of arrows. Only five were left. That would be plenty.

Tashine crossed back to the gap.

"Oh *****" Stenvar realized what she had in her hands and backed away into the corners, out of reach of her arrows.

"You can't hit me, you know it," came Stenvar's voice.

"I don't need to," replied Tashine. She took aim through the crevasse and fired. The arrow sailed across the space and clanged against the torso of the giant Steam Centurion.

A hiss of steam, and a great rumbling shook the ground. There was a whimper from Stenvar, and a great banging of metal as the Centurion stepped out of the frame and swiveled its body around.

Tashine crossed to the opposite crack, aimed again, and woke the second Centurion. She stepped back then, quietly, to the very edge of the landing, and listened to the noises within.

There was a great rush of steam, and a pained, masculine howling. Clanging of metal. Crashing noises. Sickening thuds.

The human shouting ceased. Stenvar was no more.

Tashine sat on the flagstones, suddenly feeling very empty. She was safe. Yes. Finally. And yet she was completely and utterly alone.

Before her was the exit. Or rather, the entrance to Blackreach and the way back to the surface. But she'd have to release the Centurions to access it, stomach a glimpse of Stenvar's broken body to access it. How poetic, she thought. After everything, she was going to die in this ruin after all, by slowly starving to death.

She wondered if things had been different, if she could have been happy with Stenvar the way she had been happy with Pashar.

After her years of torture as a prisoner of the Thalmor, she had been rescued. The Thalmor supply line through the desert had been harassed by the Alik'r. A legion victory in the North forced the Aldmeri forces to retreat across the desert back to the coastal region, and in so doing, abandoned the fortresses where they held her as a slave.

She had been cut off from everyone she had known for so long, it seemed the only people left in the world who cared about her were her brothers. Then she reunited with Pashar, and the loneliness and the pain melted away…

Tashine's sightless gaze came back into focus. The lever was right in front of her. Perhaps she could lower the metal platform, lure the Centurions away, and double back into the cathedral to make her escape.

Perhaps hope wasn't lost.

She flipped the lever, and down crashed the platform. The Centurion was immediately beyond, its hulking frame looming in the archway. It spat a jet of boiling steam towards her, and she leapt away out of range. The Centurion couldn't advance, though. It was so large it couldn't fit through the narrower entrance.

Tashine retrieved the bow, and sent the last three arrows she had into the monstrous metal structure. They sunk in, but did nothing to stop the machine's stomping.

Suddenly, struck by some inspired genius, the Centurion swiveled ninety degrees, and edged through the entrance.

Tashine put her plan into action. The Centurion, to her relief, was slower than her, and awkward on the bumpy terrain of the cavern floor. She drew it onwards. Its partner hadn't emerged from the cathedral. Perhaps Stenvar had managed to overcome it.

With a crash, the centurion tripped in a muddy flack of water. Tashine was deeper into the cavern now, away from the path and up the sloping floor that eventually merged with the walls. The machine seemed to be sinking. Perhaps the water was bad for the machine's mechanisms. Tashine decided it would be best to make sure it was finished. She took her mace and circled the machine, landing blows at it while it was vulnerable, until finally, all activity died, and the metal went silent.

She was so close now.

Warily, Tashine made her way back to the main path, and ultimately to the stone landing. Entering the cathedral, she registered the remains of the second Centurion. Beneath it, she recognized, with a shudder, the mangled body of Stenvar. Against the portal in the middle of the room was J'Kier's body in a pool of dark red.

The digging remained half-finished. It would still be a day's work to break through to the room beneath.

She felt so tired. She felt so drained of all will to continue. The second pickaxe was lying discarded on the floor, where J'Kier had dropped it. Had J'Kier reacted with surprise when Stenvar had turned on him? She stared at it the object blankly, her mind wandering again.

…

Tashine realized she was ready to die. After everything she had lived through, in Hammerfell and in Skyrim, she realized it was the end. Could she dig her way through the stone and find her way back to the surface? Possibly. But to what end? There was nothing for her on the other side. Death would come for her eventually anyway. She remembered when the cave-in first happened, and she felt the taste of it. Of finality, and claustrophobia, and the reminder of the acute fragility of life. How naïve she was! A quick death, smothered beneath ancient stone, would be almost desirable. Yes. She was ready for it to end.

She fell to her knees. Her awareness of her surroundings began to fade.

She didn't hear as footsteps approached on the flagstones of the landing.

She didn't hear as they rang subtly on the platform to the cathedral.

She didn't hear the rustle of clothing, or the sound of suppressed breath.

She only felt the hot, stabbing pain as the dagger pierced her spine.


	10. THE LONE SURVIVOR

**Author's note**

 **Hello. This chapter will likely be the last, followed by an epilogue, which means the murderer is about to be revealed! Since the fun of a murder mystery is guessing who the killer is, I'm writing this note as fair warning to you readers that this is your last chance to take a guess before the secret is out.**

THE LONE SURVIVOR

Tashine curled her knees into her chest watching the soldiers mill about the barracks. Her eldest brother was among them, which was comforting. He had lost an eye in the fighting, and his attitude had grown sterner than Tashine remembered from home, but he was still family.

The threat of the Aldmeri Dominion had subsided. Tashine had heard that they'd fled across the desert. The war had now shifted to Cyrodiil and the Imperial City. Tashine didn't really pay much attention to it anymore. Her thoughts were numbed, somehow, and she felt overwhelmingly listless.

A courier came running into the room at the far end, panting heavily, but with a large smile on his face.

"War's over lads!" he managed between wheezes.

The barracks erupted in raucous cheers. The soldiers jumped up and down and hugged each other, or, in the case of the older veterans, leaned back against the wall with a satisfied smile. Tashine felt mainly apprehensive at the loud noise, but was somewhat roused with curiosity. Snippets of conversation came to her.

"…Thalmor general surrendered in Cyrodiil…"

"…Will there be peace talks now?..."

"…negotiating in the White-Gold Tower…"

Well, it was good news, thought Tashine. She'd be able to go home now. What had happened to her mother? She'd never been able to communicate since the Thalmor occupied the coastal towns.

Tashine decided that the noise was increasingly hard to endure, so she left the barracks and took a walk around the town.

She didn't know the name of the town. It was where they had brought her after finding her in the dungeon of the Thalmor fortress. It was half-tucked away underneath an overhanging cliff of tall sandstone. It had a mill, and an inn, and a wooden palisade around the perimeter on three sides. The fourth side, of course, was a cliff face. Tashine nodded in approval. It was moderately defensible from a military standpoint.

Reaching the palisade, she climbed the steps to the lookout posts. There were many of them ranged along the wall, some even had sentries, but her post was currently vacant, which suited Tashine just fine.

She settled on the rough-hewn chair and acknowledged the view overlooking the canyon pass in the twilight of dusk. Cries of jubilation were still audible from the town. The residents would have reason to celebrate too. At last, the Dominion would be pushed out of Hammerfell.

From up the canyon pass, a man on horseback and a small cortege of soldiers, clinking in their Imperial armour, approached the main gates.

Tashine's heart jumped when she recognized Pashar among them. She watched him as he passed the gate-guard. The leader of the group dismounted and handed his steed's reins to Pashar, who led the beast towards the stables. The rest of the men went towards the longhouses. Tashine snuck down from her post and shadowed Pashar to the stable-house.

"Ahem," she coughed, standing somewhat awkwardly in the entranceway.

Pashar looked up and noticed her. At first he seemed more confused than anything. Tashine realized how much she had changed. For one thing, she was bald. The Thalmor had forced her to shave her head, possibly as humiliation, or possibly to prevent fleas from roosting in her hair. She knew she had permanent bags under her eyes now, and she'd lost a lot of weight. The skin hung loosely on her frame; the muscles under them had shrunk with disuse.

But then Pashar's eyes widened in recognition. "Tashine? Is that you?"

"Yeah it's me."

"I thought you were dead. What… what happened?"

"Umm…" Tashine's voice hitched up an octave, "they captured me."

Pashar came forward, dropping the horse's reins. "Are you okay?"

No, thought Tashine. "Yes."

Pashar closed the remaining gap between them and embraced her tightly. She took a ragged breath and tried to keep her emotions from boiling over. It had been so long since she had felt safe.

Suddenly, a gust of hot smelly breath buffeted her face. She opened her eyes. Facing her was a pair of horse nostrils.

"Your horse is hungry," said Tashine.

Pashar released her and turned, chuckling. "Yeah, just a minute, let me get him put away,"

"What are you doing here anyway?"

Pashar inspected the corner of the room and discovered the urn where the stable-master kept the oats. "We're bringing news of victory from the Imperial City. The war is over," he grinned.

"Oh, yeah. A courier already came by."

"Really? Those couriers sure are fast."

Tashine eyed Pashar's armour. It was seriously dented and scuffed in places. "Did you fight in Cyrodiil?"

"Yea I did."

Tashine nodded. Pashar busied himself with feeding the horse, finally closing the gate on his stall and turning his attention back to Tashine.

"You're quite brave," said Tashine, "Or lucky."

"So are you."

"Sure."

Tashine looked at her feet.

"Will you marry me?"

Tashine choked on her spit. "WHAT?"

"Living through a war kinda puts things in perspective. What do you say?"

"Yes."

"Yes?"

"Yes. I'll marry you Pashar."

Several months later, the news came.

The entire garrison had gathered in the main courtyard. Pashar's commander had ridden back to the Imperial City, and now returned to the town under the cliff with news of the peace treaty known as the White-Gold Concordat. He was reading the terms aloud when he came to the subsection that spelled out territorial exchanges between the Empire and the Dominion.

"…the lands of Coastal Hammerfell, south of the Alik'r, will be annexed to Alinor…"

And with that, the soldiers in the audience erupted in a flurry of angry outbursts.

"They did _what now_?" raged Tashine.

"What did we bleed for? These are terms of surrender!" cried Pashar, next to Tashine.

"We have them on the run," cried another legionnaire.

Tashine fumed when she and Pashar retired to the inn for a drink that night. They had married a fortnight ago in the humble temple. There were three other couples that had decided to hitch as well. The poor townsfolk likely hadn't seen so much celebration in years.

But now there was angry talk among the locals and the legionnaires garrisoned among them.

"How dare the empire betray us?" Tashine said. "If they think they can just trade away our homeland to save their city…"

There was a legionnaire from Cyrodiil arguing on the bench across from her. "The Empire nearly fell apart in the war. Mightn't it be best to preserve what we can?"

"Then give half of Cyrodiil to the Dominion! Leave us out of it," spat Tashine.

Pashar nodded darkly, "The war isn't over. Not for us."

He was right. The leadership of Hammerfell petitioned the Emperor for independence, demanding that they have the chance to fight for their territory. The Emperor granted their request, if only to harass Thalmor ambitions.

Pashar and Tashine were officially discharged from the Imperial Legion. They travelled south to enlist with the Alik'r, the only remaining organized paramilitary group in the nascent country. Tashine's three brothers joined as well. They had miraculously survived the Great War unscathed, with the exception of the eldest's missing eye.

Tashine couldn't stand to wear her Legion's armour, so she sold it and commissioned a leather cuirass all of her own. She turbaned her head in the style of the Alik'r, but never got accustomed to the feel of their scimitars. Instead, she took up the mace and her first shield, which reminded her of her father's.

At first, she was assigned to a raiding patrol that intercepted couriers and supply caravans between the coastal cities. The Thalmor could still send communications by ship, but any inland city held by the Dominion would soon find itself isolated.

Her first taste of real combat came when a party of some twenty Alik'r warriors were tasked with overrunning a fort of moderate strategic value.

It was a bright morning; the sun shone upon fields of indigo and cotton, used in Hammerfell dye and cloth industries. Amidst the fields stood a mound of rock and soil, some erratic from a long-melted glacier. A fort had been built on the top of this hill, with a sloping road wrapping helically around it.

The Alik'r gathered on the plains and formulated their plan of action. The place was on prime defensive ground, but had few defenders. They would attack it head-on, charging up the path and storming into the courtyard. Tashine nodded. She was eager for a real fight.

As they approached, Tashine could make out the nature of the enemy, and was a bit surprised. She had expected the typical contingent of atronachs, Thalmor mages and gold-armoured footsoldiers. Instead, the men on the parapets were small and clad in leather: a bosmer archer division from Valenwood.

The Alik'r captain, a hulking man of imposing physical stature, sounded the battle cry, and they charged forwards.

The Dominion answered with a horn, bleating the warning to all defenders in the fort.

The arrows began to fly.

Tashine charged forwards, never breaking, darting in a zig-zag motion to throw off archers. She raised her shield above her head just in time, as an arrow sunk into it with a thud and a splintering.

She was in the middle of the pack as they charged up the ramp. As they reached the top, they arrived at the portcullis. The leader of their group went down as an arrow sailed through the holes of the gate and pierced him through the face.

Tashine pressed herself against the stone exterior and kept her shield above her head. The rest of the surviving Alik'r joined her. Tashine's youngest brother was among them.

"Up and over!" cried one of the men.

From the pouches at their waist, several of the Alik'r drew Fireball scrolls. Backing away from the wall for a brief moment, they launched them at the elves above the gate. Tashine and the others retrieved the ropes they had brought, adorned with solid iron hooks. They flung them over the battlements, getting them to stick on the stone.

The invaders began to climb.

With a cry, the man next to Tashine fell from midway up the wall, an arrow sticking out from under his arm. He bounced off the path below and disappeared into the fields beyond.

As she crested the top and sat astride the wall, she spied an archer aiming her way. Instinctively, she brought her shield up, and watched as an arrow lodged itself halfway through.

She turned to help her brother, who was climbing the rope she had used. Out of the twenty warriors they had begun with, only thirteen remained.

Tashine dashed along the walls, ducked into the first tower, and ran up the staircase two stairs at a time. The sniper behind the parapet turned with a started cry when he heard her, drawing his bow.

He didn't have the chance to fire. Tashine charged into him, shield raised, and sent him flailing off the battlements. An arrow flew past her head as she turned to run back down the tower. Shouts and clashing of steel sounded from below.

As she reemerged on top of the wall, she saw that the battle was nearly over. The other tower had been breached, and below, a lone altmer commander was surrounded by Alik'r on all sides. Then she noticed her brother, lying spread-eagled where he had fallen in the courtyard, with an arrow buried in his forehead…

Despite her earlier convictions that she was ready to die, she hadn't expected it to come quite so soon. As the knife was wrenched from her back, she doubled over, suddenly alert.

Curiously, it wasn't painful. Admittedly, there was severe discomfort radiating from her back, but no searing pain. More disquieting was the alarm sounding in her mind, at a sudden lack of sensation from the lower half of her body. Experimentally, she tried to move her legs, to no avail. She fell to her side, using her arms to try and prop herself up and turn to face her attacker.

Standing a few paces away was a figure gingerly holding a bloodied dwarven dagger.

"Surprise," said Roandil.

Roandil watched cautiously as Tashine's face went through several emotions before settling with confusion.

"I thought you were dead,"

Roandil nodded. "Did you? Well I'm terribly sorry to disappoint, but as you can see, I'm very much alive."

Tashine stuttered, "But… I saw your body."

"All black, a bit bloodied? It was a pretty good disguise, if I do say so myself. Brelyna, you see, is quite good at alteration magic, including turning people into different colours. So she just put a blackening spell on me, while I gave myself a nosebleed and lay down on the floor. Then Brelyna did her whole screaming routine and you came rushing back in to find me, and since Brelyna was doing her fancy Detect Dead thing, you assumed I was gone?"

Roandil paused, and took a moment to wipe the dagger clean on a kerchief.

"So Brelyna was in on it?"

Roandil chuckled, "Oh hardly. It was surprisingly easy to convince her to help me fake my death, all things considered. I just had to say 'You're a smart girl, right Brelyna? Do you _really_ believe that the Argonian is suddenly a master archer? There's a killer among us, and the only way to outsmart them is to mess with their game'. Perhaps it's my elven charm."

Tashine stayed silent.

"Since then I've been famished. Tashine, you have no idea." Roandil clutched his stomach. "I was afraid my stomach would growl and give me away. I've been surviving by nibbling on mushrooms, and let me tell you, I _hate_ mushrooms. Too spongy. And, incidentally, did you know that some varieties of mushrooms can make you hallucinate? The ones that grow down here are mostly fine, but some are _definitely_ not. I have been having the _worst_ time."

Roandil took a side-glance at Tashine, "Okay, granted, maybe not the 'worst' time, seeing as I'm not dead, but relatively speaking…"

The wood elf looked about the room and noticed the mangled body in the corner, "I've certainly fared better than poor Stenvar over there,"

This seemed to get the Redguard to stir. "Why," she gasped.

"You tell me. Is it because we all deserve it?" asked Roandil, "I suppose if one was cynical, one could think that. After all, Cato was an army deserter, Arniel used black soul gems in his research, Stenvar was a hired killer, Deep-in-his-Cups was a skooma dealer and an addict, the Khajiit had a criminal past, Brelyna freely experimented with magic on human subjects. Do you know Suzanna the Wicked in Windhelm? She's not really wicked, she was smeared by Kjeld for bedding his son."

Roandil continued, "But not everyone, surely. What did Eoric ever do? He's fairly innocent. And what about me?"

Tashine protested, "You're a Thalmor spy!"

Roandil tapped his fingers together, "Oh. Yes, well, I suppose there's that." Roandil shook his head, "Wait, back up a minute. How do _you_ know?"

"I read your journal entry."

"Oh, you can _read?_ "

"Obviously."

"Right." Roandil sighed. "I'm sure the Thalmor did terrible things to you, and that's unfortunate. Don't blame me for everything that they did. Besides, it's not like terrible things are a barrier to greatness. Take Ysgramor, for instance. He isn't a Nord hero _in_ _spite_ of killing scores of Snow Elves, he's a hero _because_ of it. Do you think Tiber Septim conquered the known world with poems and drum circles? When great powers rise, bad things happen to the people who are arrayed against them, and make no mistake, the Thalmor are the next great power."

Tashine made no comment.

"Besides, as an elf, I stand to benefit greatly from a regime change. My girlfriend's human suitor in Valenwood will be scarcely fit to lick her boots once the Dominion imposes the fullest extent of their law."

Tashine finally retorted, angrily, "They used Bosmer troops to defend coastal Hammerfell. They used your people as fodder in a war they knew they would lose."

"Yes, well. I didn't say life would be perfect… Look, is this really what you want to do? Argue politics on your deathbed?"

At this, Tashine began to laugh.

"Why are you laughing?"

"Because it's your death too. You can't hope to dig through the floor all on your own. Not with those spindly arms."

"Hey, they are not spindly!" Roandil crossed the room to inspect the patch of stone that was chipped only half-way through. Roandil looked at Tashine, and pointed down with an index finger. "Is this really all you managed to do? You guys weren't very sharpish about it, were you?"

Tashine shrugged.

"Fortunately for me, I have other options," said Roandil. From his tunic he drew a small copper orb.

"What is that?"

"This? This is the key to the portal." Roandil examined it in the faint light. Satisfied, he crossed to where the portal of blue-glass and metal hoops stood as inert as ever. Near the edge was the circular opening. Delicately, he inserted the orb into it, and gave it a twist. The portal came to life, and the stonework around the sides adjusted, sinking into the floor to provide a convenient set of steps to the passageway beneath.

Tashine raged, "You had that the _whole time_ and you didn't tell us?"

Roandil grimaced, "Afraid so. Did you really think Calcelmo would embark on such an ambitious expedition without the necessary equipment? He found this baby in the ruins of Markarth years ago and has been holding on to it ever since."

"But why lie about it?" Tashine pressed.

"By the time we got down here, I realized what an opportunity I had. What with everyone sealed inside the ruin and the murders, it was possible that I could not only discover Blackreach, but I could be the _only_ person to discover Blackreach. Selfish I know, but what kind of morally dubious Thalmor agent would I be, otherwise?"

"So that's why you killed everyone? So you could have the glory of discovering Blackreach for yourself?"

Roandil was taken aback, "Wait what?" He shook his head. "Hold on a minute. I'm not the killer. Do I look like some kind of master assassin to you, what with my spindly arms and all?"

Tashine pursed her lips and said nothing.

"If I were, I'd scissor kick into the air and break your neck between my thighs on the landing. Best I can do is sneak up and stick a dagger in your spine.

Tashine stared in silence.

"And I only did _that_ because I've been operating under the assumption that the murderer was _you_."

"Me?" scoffed Tashine.

Roandil narrowed his eyes. Why on Nirn would she be denying involvement now? What was there to gain by deception? He appraised the other carefully, and wondered if Tashine wasn't altogether sane. There was a feverishness in those eyes, and not just from the pain of a spinal injury.

"Don't act like you're innocent now. I watched you spar with Stenvar and seal him in here with the Centurions."

Tashine looked guilty, "I thought it was him. He thought it was me."

Roandil nodded, "Fair enough. But what about the burns on your arms?"

Tashine looked down at them, noticing the scarring tissue again.

"Did Brelyna leave those marks? When you were strangling her?"

Tashine said nothing.

"I notice there's blood on the front of your cuirass. Was that from J'Kier when you stuck him in the chest with a pickaxe?"

Tashine was looking down at her body in consternation.

"Think about it. How could I have killed J'Kier right in front of Stenvar without being noticed? It could only have been one of the two of you, and frankly, I know it wasn't Stenvar."

At last, Tashine seemed to give up. Her eyes were staring lifelessly at nothing in particular. She seemed to have shrunken, and was breathing only shallowly.

"Yes," she admitted in a barely audible whisper. "I did it. I killed them all."


End file.
